


the last great american dynasty

by reusabletears



Series: Wayhaught Folklore Anthology [3]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: 1940s but its not accurate, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Caretaker!Nicole, Confused!Rachel, Do you believe in ghosts?, Doc is an asshat, Eccentric!Waverly, Especially for the time period, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Minimal Homophobia, Minor Character Death, Nicole Kinda Hate/Loves Waverly, Nicole loves a house, Rachel Ships Wayhaught, Some things are accurate but not all, Waverly Loves Making Nicole Squirm, Waverly has a secret goal, Wynonna Earp is dead, good ending, journal au, just go with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28049709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reusabletears/pseuds/reusabletears
Summary: Rachel Valdez is a rising pop music star with an extremely popular song on TikTok. Magpie Records is desperate to sign her but she only just turned 19 and has zero experience with being an adult, let alone signing a record deal. Magpie Records owner Margo Clanton invites her out to her Rhode Island summer home to spend time with her son, Billy, and relax while she considers their offer.Can the journal of the former caretaker, Nicole Haught, help Rachel make the right choice? And who the hell is Waverly Earp? And why does Watch Hill, Rhode Island hate her so much?Track 3 of my Wayhaught Folklore Anthology
Relationships: Waverly Earp & Doc Holliday, Waverly Earp & Nicole Haught, Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Series: Wayhaught Folklore Anthology [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022475
Comments: 232
Kudos: 156





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends!
> 
> We are now on Track 3, 'the last great american dynasty' by Taylor Swift.
> 
> Please read all the tags before reading. I am very detailed in the tags, or at least as much as I can be without ruining the fic, so I ask that you read them. I will do reminders on the chapters that have the more sensitive subjects in them.

**June 5, 2020**

The rolling New England greenery was not giving Rachel Valdez the relaxing vibes that Billy promised. If anything, she was feeling more out of her element than ever before. Rachel felt the Mercedes, that she had been picked up in a few hours before, take a few potholes in stride as Holt turned onto Westerly Road; the sea poking out between the large, saltbox houses.  _ This is definitely not Toronto anymore.  _ The young singer was on her way to a weekend vacation at her prospective record label’s summer home and the experience was already testing her resolve.  _ If I agree to sign with Magpie right now, I bet Mr. MAGA 2016 will take me right back to the airport and civilization. _ Rachel's stomach flipped when Holt cleared his throat, almost like he could read her mind.

"We are almost there, it’s just up and around the bend." Holt gruffed in his blasé, almost cowboy esque sounding voice. "On Bluff Avenue."

_ Like that makes a difference. I’ll still be at a seaside shanty, far away from poutine and beaver tails. _

"It's pretty dope." Billy piped up from the front passenger seat. "And huge."

Rachel held back an indignant noise and slumped in her chair. Teenage indifference was always her way of keeping the people around her from seeing her anxiety. And this weeked at Billy's mother's house was the most anxious she had felt in a long time. Rachel wondered if it was stupid to not have hired a lawyer or one of those PR people back when her single started gaining ground on TikTok. She had quite a few different labels reach out to her but none more ravenously than Magpie Records. This weekend will be her first big test as Margo Clanton is coming tomorrow with all the paperwork for her to read. Margo made her more than nervous and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was not right or trustworthy about that woman. But Billy was fun and sweet so she couldn't turn it down.  _ Right?  _

The vehicle quickly turned onto Bluff Avenue and Rachel was met with the most breathtaking house she had ever seen. To call this square monstrosity  _ just _ a house would be a huge undersell, it was definitely a mansion. Holliday House was classic New England coast colonial style; wide white siding, salt stained dark shingles, deep red brick chimneys, and a multitude of windows lined by beautiful deep blue shutters. It was incredibly large, immaculately kept, and surrounded by the deepest green grass and shrubbery Rachel had ever seen. The wide view of the murky blue-green Atlantic was breath-taking and highlighted just how incredible it was to build such a home right there on the Watch Hill cliff side. Rachel was overwhelmed by its stately beauty and she leaned further into her window as Holt navigated the front gate. As Rachel pressed her face into the glass, she noticed movement in a large window on the third floor, directly above the front entrance arch way. She squinted and a human shaped flash of brown and copper red pulled aside the curtain then released it, causing it to sway slightly as goosebumps rose up on Rachel’s arms and neck.  _ What the-- _

“Welcome to Holliday House.” Holt interrupted as he maneuvered the vehicle around a waist high fence in the middle of the driveway, parking right in front of the doorway. Rachel gulped and tried to compose herself as Billy stuck his head around and grinned at her.

“Wanna go treasure hunting? This place is hella big and Mam didn’t clear it out when she bought it.” 

“That’s not a good idea--”

“It’s a great idea, bro.” Billy opened his door and shuffled out. “Mam ain’t here to bust your balls so live a little, huh?”

Holt groaned before looking back at Rachel then back at his brother. “Don’t mess anything up, kid. Otherwise there will be hell to pay.”

“Sick.” Rachel’s door was flung open and Billy was standing there, childish grin and all.  _ He is kinda cute. _ “Come on Rach-- Holt will grab our shit.”

“Thanks for the ride-- uhh, the Mercedes is totally bangin’.” Rachel nodded in a hopefully thankful way and slid out, reaching back in for her backpack before looking up at the mansion again. 

The three floors were even more ominously beautiful from her feet and she took in all of its charm for a few moments before her eyes were pulled back to the third floor window. The brunette noticed the white curtains were still, nothing present behind them. She rolled her shoulders at the thought of what she had seen as Billy grabbed her hand and pulled her to the door. 

“Come on, Rachel. You gotta meet freaky Phil.” Billy grabbed the large, ornate handle before shouldering the door open. 

“Wait--” Rachel stuttered as the boy dragged her inside. “Someone lives in your summer place?”

“Yeah, Phil and his wife Jan. They are the caretakers for when we aren’t around. They live in a separate guest house down near the pool. We kind of inherited them when we bought the place. Phil is super weird--”

Rachel stopped listening as she took in all the beauty of the entryway. White walls, crown moulding, and wide plank rich oak floors. It was decorated exactly like any luxurious entryway would be, with a plush red wingback chair and settee, busy area rug, and deep brown tables. Rachel felt she was visiting a rich friend’s house where you could only sit on the couch in the basement; the furniture upstairs was just too nice, too beautiful to mess up. The ceilings were low and there were many doors leading to separate rooms but a hauntingly gorgeous curved staircase was straight ahead, urging Rachel to the third floor.  _ Why? _

“Phil? Jan?” Billy yelled out, tossing his zip-up jacket across the fancy settee and crossing into the doorway directly under the alluring staircase. 

Rachel took a few steps to follow but a faint noise from up the staircase caught her ears and she changed course, walking tentatively to the edge of the first step. Rachel set down her backpack, leaning it against the wall delicately. The noise became louder and it sounded crackly, distorted; like the old records her producer, Robin, adores. The bouncy piano was a siren song leading her feet up the staircase onto the second floor landing. It was coming from her left and she followed it down the hallway as a sweet voice began.

**I'm flying high but I've got a feeling I'm falling**

**Falling for nobody else but you**

**You caught my eye**

**And I've got a feeling I'm falling**

As Rachel rounded a corner, she found white double doors slightly open with the music flowing out between the cracks. She wanted to turn and go find Billy but she felt like she was under some sort of spell and stepped forward, opening the doors. A short wood staircase with unfinished walls on both sides led her upwards until she was in a simple slanted ceiling room, white gray flooring and off white walls. Her eyes turned towards the front of the house, the white curtains she saw pulled to the side earlier were currently swaying slightly.

**Show me the ring and I'll jump right through**

**I used to travel single, oh**

**We chance to mingle, oh**

**Now I’m a-tingle over you**

All the furniture was covered with white sheets but the sound was coming from a record player sitting on an old, ornate brown and black trunk next to a short bookcase full of dusty old records. Rachel rounded the sheet covered couch and came to be standing in front of the player, watching the record spin wobbly around the plate.

**Hey Mister Parson stand by**

**Don't leave me now**

**For I've got a feeling I'm falling**

**Falling for nobody else but you**

“I’ve Got a Feeling I’m Falling sung by Ella Fitzgerald.” an older male voice said from behind Rachel, she went wide eyed and jumped a little. She quickly turned to see an elderly man, thin white hair and short curved stature, standing at the top of the stairs with a sweet grin drawn across his wrinkled face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you young lady. You just have wonderful taste in music.”

“You need a bell or something…” The record spun to a stop and Rachel’s heart began to slow its beating pace, her intuition telling her this man didn’t mean her any harm. “Are you Phil?”

“Philip.” The man corrected, hobbling towards her, favoring his right knee. “I am the caretaker of Holliday House. Been so for longer than you’ve been alive, I reckon. I was adopted into a long line of loyal protectors of 14 Bluff Avenue.”

_ Maybe I should be afraid… _

“And you are Rachel Valdez, I hope? Would be kind of odd if you were not... seeing as you are here.” 

“I am.” Rachel did an awkward bow before bringing a hand up to her head to scratch the back. “Loyal protector, huh? Kind of like Jon Snow and the Night Watch?”

Philip cast her a quick grin before moving to the record player. “Ella Fitzgerald’s version of this song is so much better than Annette Hanshaw’s, don’t you think? No one could sing Jazz quite like the ‘First Lady of Song’.”

“You aren’t speaking my language.” Rachel shrugged with little interest. But something curious was behind her new friend’s eyes and she felt the weird urge to explain. “I’m not really hip with old music.”

“But you chose an old song, did you not?”

“No…” Rachel felt uneasy, looking around the room. “It was playing when we arrived. It’s why I came up here actually, I felt--” Rachel paused for a few moments, her gaze pulled back to the curtains. “Drawn to it.”

Philip’s eyes brightened and he smiled so large that Rachel could make out the outline of his dentures. He began to look around wistfully, almost like if he checked every corner he would find something or someone that he missed dearly. Rachel felt her chest tighten a tad as she watched a sadness fill his eyes when he didn’t find who he was looking for. 

“Hey, yo, freaky Phil? Rach? Y’all up there?” Billy was shouting from the stairs and Rachel turned to hear him bound up two steps at a time. “Found ya! And hey, you found Phil! Dank.”

“Boy Clanton, how wonderful it is to see you again.” Philip’s voice was less playful and more stoic, the air changing slightly in the room. “I was just showing Rachel here Nic--”

Rachel turned to look as his breath caught in his throat, interrupting his own sentence. Philip sighed somberly before continuing.

“ _ Holliday House’s _ old record collection.”

“Ah, yeah. ‘Cause she’s a singer.” Billy nodded along. “I found Jan in the kitchen making us an early dinner if you wanted to come down?”

“Maybe in a bit.” Rachel heard herself reply. “I am enjoying talking about music with my dude,  _ Philip.” _

Her elderly companion grinned at her correction and she wondered why she was taking his side, especially since she had been harboring a small crush on Billy.  _ Must be because he called the old ‘freaky’. The man is just from a different time. That doesn’t make him ‘freaky’.  _

“Cool, cool.” Billy nodded. “I’ll come get ya later than.”

And he was back down the stairs in a flash, Philip clicking his tongue disapprovingly. 

“Boy Clanton has a lot of potential.” The man muttered before turning back to the record player. “So, as you were saying my dear. The record player was playing by itself?”

“I mean--” Rachel turned as well, awkwardly wringing her hands against her leather jacket. “Yeah. But, you probably think I’m crazy.”

“Not at all. I am pleased in fact. It means you are in need of some courage? Maybe some well intended advice?” Philip tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. “Sound  _ familiar?” _

“Kind of.” Rachel shifted uncomfortably. Her thoughts went back to the recording contract and Margo’s insistence that she come stay with them at their Rhode Island home for the weekend. It was a big decision that she just didn’t know what to do or who to trust. Rachel felt a gentle graze on her shoulder and looked back towards the window. Before Rachel could stop herself, she was speaking words she didn’t even think. 

“Is your wife redheaded?”

“No.” Philip’s face was wistful again and he reached forward and lifted the record player arm off of the record, latching it back in its place. He pulled the record off carefully and nodded his head towards the top of the bookshelf, a record sleeve with Ella Fitzgerald’s face adorning the cover.

“Grab the sleeve for me, please?” 

Rachel grabbed and passed it to her new friend, watching him carefully slide the record into the dust sleeve before reaching past her to slot it back into the bookcase. His hands then came to rest over the top of the player, closing it with practiced ease before sliding his hands underneath it and lifting the player off of the trunk. Rachel stepped forward to help him but he pushed her out of the way with his shoulder, before resting the antique safely on top of the bookcase. 

“It’s a 1947 RCA Victor Radio Phonograph. Decently weighty but not too much for an old man like myself. It has an automatic record flip function that must not have engaged when your song ended. Well, for good reason I believe anyway.”

Rachel furrowed her brow as Philip reached out to her.

“Help me down, please.”

Rachel let out an annoyed noise but reached out to help anyway. He used her stability to crouch to the floor in front of the trunk. “What do you mean?”

Philip laughed as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys, rolling two black skeleton-looking ones off the snap side of the ring. “Nicole didn’t really like the flipside, ‘ My Baby Likes to Be-Bop’. I figure the player just  _ knows _ , you know?”

“Nicole?” Rachel was unsure why she was so invested, watching Philip slide a key into each lock on the chest. “You are a very cryptic man, Philip.”

“Help me.” He demanded and Rachel kneeled next to him and reached forward, grabbing the key on her side. “On three.”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

A deep metallic click came from inside the chest, Philip began pulling up on the leather straps as Rachel held her breath. It was mostly empty except for a few items laid gingerly in the center. She looked over at Philip, his hand over his mouth as his eye peered down into the chest reverently. Rachel’s hand was drawn inside, immediately grabbing a wooden figurine of a ballerina. She pulled it out and studied it closer. The ballerina, in a light pink tutu, was standing en pointe in a perfect arabesque on top of a decently deep saucer. It was carved wood, hand painted with delicate detail, and the trunk had kept the paint from peeling. Rachel flipped it and read the inscription out loud.

_ “Waverly Earp,  _

_ I can.  _

_ N.H.” _

Rachel looked bewildered. “Who is Waverly Earp?”

“The maddest woman this town has ever seen.” He winked. “She had a marvelous time ruining everything.”

Rachel tilted the figurine back up and rubbed her thumb across the face, her heart feeling drawn to the piece. She placed it carefully on the lip of a bookshelf before peeking back inside.

“I will leave you up here with these treasures.” Philip turned to her, using her shoulder to help push himself back to his feet. “I think you’ll find the answers you are looking for.”

“Wait--” Rachel stood to stop him but he was already pulling the sheet off of a houndstooth camelback sofa. 

“Please sit here while you read.” The man waved his arms in an eccentric flourish. “I will come back for you when Jan has made dinner. Deal?”

Rachel wobbled on her heels, the curiosity of what Philip said urging her to stay. “Ok, deal. But if any of this is broken, it wasn’t me.”

“You can’t break what’s already over, my dear.” Philip winked and hobbled away, quickly shuffling down the stairs.

_ You can’t break what’s already over? Philip ain’t freaky but he is definitely ‘a lot’.  _ Rachel blew out her anxious air and turned back to the trunk. “Might as well, I guess.”

She reached in again, this time pulling out a maroon handkerchief with the initials N.H. embroidered in one of the corners. She unfolded it and found two gold cufflinks with matching maroon colored gems set in the middle. Rachel carefully re-folded them and placed the treasures up next to the figurine before reaching in for the final item in the chest. The brunette’s hands grasped a rectangle and she brought it out, noticing immediately that it was a leather bound book of some sort. It was black leather, yellowing pages, and the leather tie string was missing; replaced with the tackiest pink wedding garter that Rachel had ever seen.  _ I guess this is what Philip means by reading. _ The young woman stands and drifts to the couch, struggling to kick off her black boots as she stares at the front of the book. 

Free of the confines of her boots, she flops down on the plush couch and pulls her feet under herself while fingering the edges of the garter. Rachel slides the material off carefully and places it next to her before opening the protective leather flap. Her eyes immediately are drawn to the inside left corner.

_ Property of Nicole Rayleigh Haught _

_ “It matters not how strait the gate,  _

_ How charged with punishments the scroll,  _

_ I am the master of my fate: _

_ I am the captain of my soul.” _

_ ‘Invictus’ - William Ernest Henley _

“Heavy.” Rachel commented before flipping past the cover page. Her eyes scoured a few lines before it clicked in her head. “It’s a journal--”

She thought back to what Philip had said about her being in need of courage and well-intended advice.  _ Maybe he meant from whoever Nicole Haught is?  _ Rachel looked around the room and figured she had nothing to lose; if she had been led to this room to read this journal she might as well do what the ghost wants.

_ April 13, 1947 _

_ Earlier this morning, little Potter came running to my cottage by the pool to inform me that his father was asleep inside of his car in the driveway. I left quickly from my bed, worried my boss had too much to drink down at the Yacht Club. Peter Stewart was not asleep in his 1942 Lincoln Continental, he was deceased. His young son had found his body, slumped lifelessly against the wheel. What a terrible memory for such a promising young boy. The day was maddening chaos as we called the authorities and watched the coroner load up his body to take it to Westerly. I stood under the arch way holding Peter’s wailing wife as she clutched desperately to my suspenders, her tears wettening my collar. I tried my best to be there for her but I just kept thinking about you, father. How much you trusted me. How much Peter’s friendship meant to you. And how unworthy I was when Peter made me the new caretaker of 14 Bluff Avenue after you died. Now Peter is dead and the house that I love so dearly will be sold.  _

_ What will happen now? _


	2. Chapter 2

_ May 15, 1947 _

_ I met Waverly Earp today. She will be the new lady of the house once she is married in June. Her husband-to-be and my new boss, John Henry Holliday, seems rather rude in comparison to her. Once he figured out I was a woman he immediately fired me, not once asking my qualifications. Seems Mrs. Stewart referred to me as N. Haught in her letters and he remembered there being a Nicholas Haught who worked for Peter. It made me miss you more than anything, Father.  _

_ I took the news with a decent amount of grace; it’s his house now anyway. As I prepared to leave, Waverly strolled right up to him and put him in his place like I’ve never seen anyone do before. I found myself in awe of her strength and heart of willful gold; taking a stand for a woman whose credentials she was not familiar with. It lasted about as long as a meager chlorine pool treatment. Waverly is a rich St. Louis socialite and I am but a humble New England caretaker. Once Mr. Holliday was gone, Waverly immediately began ordering me to complete the most ridiculous jobs I have ever heard of. Who in their right mind wants lime green shutters? This is Rhode Island not Miami. You would have told her to go to hell, Father. I am brave but not that brave. Especially around a woman who looks and speaks like that. _

_ She disarmed me in a way I never believed was possible. I want to spend as much time with her as I can but I also want to figure out a way to avoid her. I have never met a woman so infuriatingly beautiful in my entire life. I remember the day I told you I was peculiar, Father. I expected rejection but you just slapped me on the back and told me you hoped I did not inherit your taste in women. When I asked what you meant, you simply responded: “I like my broads beautiful, clever, and tragic.” I refuted you then because I thought I knew what women were like and I'd never take interest. I was wrong father.  _

_ Waverly Earp is all of those things and more.  _

*****

**May 15, 1947**

“Dang nabbit!” Nicole Haught yelled louder than she meant to. She looked down at her gloved hand, the throbbing pain cascading up her thumb and towards her wrist. Nicole grimaced, tossing the shears down in a huff while willing the pain to end.  _ I always have to slam my hand between the handles at least once. _

“So Potter learned it from you then?”

Nicole smiled softly and stood from her kneeling position beside the English Boxwood to face Jeannie Stewart, the lady of the house.  _ Well, former lady of the house. _ Mrs. Stewart was politely standing under the archway, her lips flat in a stern smile and her hands held behind her back. Nicole noticed she has her blonde hair pulled high and tight, while wearing her nicest church dress. Mrs. Stewart is definitely nervous for the arrival of 14 Bluff Avenue’s new owners. And maybe Nicole was just as nervous, seeing as she had already trimmed this boxwood last week.

“No.” Nicole responded simply and nodded to her in respect. 

“Always a woman of few words.” Mrs. Stewart’s voice was light, even if her eyebrows were pointed. “Is that what you plan to wear?”

Nicole looked down at her deep brown coveralls, stained with soil and white dust from the marble chips used in the driveway. She’d rather show that she worked for a living than wear a fancy suit that she only wears every other year.. Nicole wished to be seen as a caretaker, not a threat. She tugged her deer skin gloves off and beat them against herself in an brave attempt at making the white dust less noticeable. She moved to dusting off her black lace up boots which were beginning to tear at the toes; she was planning to see the cobbler on her next trip into Westerly.  _ Not much I can do about that for now. _ Once she was done dusting, she dropped her gloves and pulled a comb out of her front pocket. With a few quick swipes, she slicked her very short red hair back, giving special care to highlight her off center part. Nicole then unbuttoned the top two buttons to show that she had worn a white dress shirt underneath the coveralls.  _ That’s as professional as I get. _

Mrs. Stewart gave a slight sigh as Nicole put her arms out in a move that could only say, ‘is that good enough for you?’ Suddenly a length of black fabric was being shoved into Nicole’s space. “Can you at least wear this tie?”

“Sure.” Nicole nodded.

“It was--” Mrs. Stewart hesitated before tentatively stepping back. “It was Peter’s.”

Nicole nodded, putting as much gratefulness as she could into her eyes.

“He would want you to have it.” Mrs. Stewart watched as Nicole examined the tie before finally clearing her throat. “You know Nicole-- Peter always felt you were like a sister to him.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” 

“No, thank you. You’ve been a great source of comfort to me since he passed.” 

Nicole bowed a bit, buttoning up to the top of her collar. She then flipped it up and draped the tie before beginning a windsor knot. Mrs. Stewart’s words meant a lot to her seeing as Peter and Jeannie had allowed her to take over the caretaking position after her Father had passed away from the flu. According to them, it was an easy choice. They knew she was qualified, had experience with the home, and would not be drafted into the war. To Nicole it was everything. Her entire life had been caring for the mansion house and the Stewarts had allowed her to keep her Father’s legacy alive. Nicole had been raised in it after her mother had left when she was just a baby. This house, unlike her mother, was stuck in its place. And Nicole wanted to stay with it until she died. 

“I wrote very nice things about you so I hope Mr. Holliday keeps you on.” Mrs. Stewart said quietly as she watched Nicole finish her knot. “I don’t think this house stands without a Haught watching over it.”

“I hope so.” Nicole stuffed the tie inside her coveralls, adjusting the fit. “Are you and Potter staying?”

“Oh yes, Mr. Holliday thankfully hired me as a live-in cook and housekeeper.”

“Peter didn’t leave--”

Mrs. Stewart cleared her throat and shook her head swiftly before moving on. “He said your position will be very busy with all of his fiancée’s requests so he needed someone to keep everything tidy. The missus will be out here quite frequently.”

“Requests?”

Before Mrs. Stewart could answer, they heard the tell-tale sound of tires over marble chips as the large gate was being swung open. Mrs. Stewart stepped back and crossed down the entry stairway, flittering with her dress nervously. Nicole picked back up her shears and went back to trimming the box wood. She was a caretaker, not a greeter. Nicole wouldn’t be caught dead standing in a line waiting to greet a man she’d only see for three months of the year. Especially one that refused to come out and look at the mansion before he bought it.

The grinding sound grew closer and Nicole shifted her way around the bush, giving herself a perfect view of the approaching hot pink Cadillac series 75.  _ That color is a choice. _ The car skidded to a quick stop and the driver side door opened to reveal Bobo Del Rey, Bulshar’s right hand man, stepping out onto the drive. Nicole immediately stood straighter and gritted her teeth; Peter and Bobo had been at odds for the past couple years due to Bulshar’s meddling in Watch Hill. Bobo’s presence among the new owners did not bode well for the mansion or for Nicole.

“Mrs. Stewart.” Bobo bowed with an odd flourish before opening the rear passenger door.

John Henry Holliday stepped out in a smart black pinstripe vested suit that was topped off with a Stetson sheplers that Nicole had seen in a menswear magazine once. The man probably had a few inches on her and sported the ugliest mustache and goatee Nicole had ever seen.  _ Looks like a villain in a bad western.  _

“Mrs. Stewart.” Doc grabbed her outstretched hand and nodded. “My condolences about Peter’s sudden death. To die in one’s car not intoxicated by drink is a terrible way to go. He was an amazing investor. My oil money has only grown under his wisdom: I would not have been able to buy this home without his advice.”

Nicole tensed, her shears making an especially sharp sound and she slammed the blades shut. She watched Mrs. Stewart absorb the slight with grace.

“Thank you, Mr. Holliday. For everything. Peter saw you as a dear friend.”

“Please, call me Doc.” Doc turned and removed his hat as Nicole watched the final occupant exit the vehicle, her breath hitching at the sight. “This is my wife--” 

The shears made another sharp sound but this one reverberated in Nicole’s chest as the gorgeous woman confidently strolled up to Mrs. Stewart and hugged her outright. She was petite but toned, her golden brown hair immaculately styled in a half up, half down style. Nicole had never seen a woman wear a strapless dress to anything but a ball; and definitely not one in such a hot pink color. Nicole was uncomfortably intrigued.

“Waverly Earp.” She said brightly to Mrs. Stewart, looking around the front of the mansion house with saucer eyes. “Oh Doc, the house is beautiful! We  _ must _ call it Holliday House, don’t you think? It’s as smart looking as you.”

Nicole couldn’t help but snort, noticing the slight sarcasm.  _ She’s clever too. _

“I wish I could show Chrissy back in St. Louis, she would love it.”

“I know, Darling.” Doc brushed her off, looking to Bobo. “Now Mrs. Stewart, is Peter’s son well?”

Nicole faded out Doc’s voice, holding her shears out in front of herself dumbly as she watched Waverly stroll back and forth, looking at the home with such conviction. Nicole’s mouth felt dry and butterflies flew around in her stomach, pushing her to find an exit quickly. But Doc was here and she needed to meet her employer, attractive wife or not. She laid the shears on the ground, focusing on steading her breathing. But when Nicole looked up again, Waverly was studying her with the same fervor as her most loved place. A sensual smile pulled across Waverly’s face as Nicole nodded, now wishing she had spent more time making herself look presentable.

“Mr. Haught!” Doc’s voice was thick, his drawl not of his St. Louis origin.  _ Georgia maybe?  _ Nicole focused on it to erase how naked Waverly was making her feel right now.  _ Wait… did he call me Mr.-- _

“Mr. Haught, do you speak?” Doc quickly bounded the steps, his face annoyed. He looked back at Bobo. “Do you know this man?”

“I’ve known  _ her _ all my life.” Bobo sneered. “Though no man truly knows her, if you speak my language.”

“What does that mean?” Doc was confused, the air thickening. Nicole’s shoulders set as the smell of alcohol wafted from Doc’s question. 

“Nicole Haught is a very capable caretaker! She is the daughter of our former caretaker Nicholas and knows everything there is to know about the house and the grounds. I believe you will be quite pleased with her qualific--”

Bobo chomped his teeth together with a click before glaring at Mrs. Stewart. “I’m so glad Bulshar released you of your husband’s debts or otherwise I’d slap you. Doc is a great man to keep you on as the  _ help _ \-- don’t ruin it by talking out of turn.”

“Peter was a fine man and Mrs. Stewart meant no harm.” Nicole raised her voice at Bobo before leaning towards Doc, holding out her hand. “Nicole Haught, Mr. Holliday.”

Doc looked down at her palm like it was a snake before back at Nicole’s face, obvious discontent there. “I was not informed you were a woman when I spoke with Jeannie. The war has been over long enough for you to find  _ women’s _ work. Why are you here?”

“My family--”

“I will not be utilizing your services any longer  _ Miss _ , you may go.”

The immediate pounding in her chest let Nicole know her heart was in the middle of splitting itself in two. She wanted to scream to fight but Nicole instead put all her energy into keeping her face even, her browns locked in a war of dominance with Doc’s icy blues. “I feel different but it’s  _ your _ house, Mr. Holliday.”

“But--”

“No need, Mrs. Stewart. I will grab my things and go.” Nicole nodded at Doc, her anger boiling deep in her gut. _Don’t let him see you sweat. He will enjoy it too much._ _“Sir.”_

Nicole’s boots carried her down the steps where she paid extra attention to giving Bobo daggers with her eyes. A quick flash of a smile for Mrs. Stewart before she crossed towards her pool cottage, her mind swimming.  _ The house. What will you do without the house?  _ The pain of disappointment was deep and Nicole bit the inside of her mouth in an attempt to keep the tears that were threatened to fall at bay. When she reached the gate, her hands were trembling, opening the latch.  _ Keep a hold of yourself, Nicole. A Haught does everything with pride. Even leaving. _

“John Henry Holliday!” 

Nicole stopped in her tracks, the distant yell claiming her gravity. She turned to see a sight she was totally unfamiliar with. Waverly Earp, strapless dress and all, was tugging Doc by his earlobe down the lawn after Nicole while repeatedly hitting him with his own stetson.

“Waverly--” Doc’s voice was higher pitched, his face showing mild terror as his bent legs tried their best to keep up with his fiancée’s tug. “Please--”

“Don’t you dare, ‘ _ Please Waverly’  _ me.” Waverly’s eyes were on fire and her stare was set straight between Nicole’s eyes. The redhead lifted her hand to touch the spot but figured she’d be burned so she let her hand drop, trying her best to set her face to neutral. “You have some explaining to do.”

Waverly flung Doc forward and he took more than a few steps to catch himself, standing very close to Nicole. The look he had could only be categorized as sheepish fear. 

“We have been on _the_ Watch Hill at _the_ most beautiful mansion house I have ever seen for all of--” Waverly’s hand flicked, her rage denoted by a head tilt. “Ten minutes? And you already fired the most _qualified_ employee we have ever had?”

“Well, you see love, she's a--” Doc began.

“I swear on my sister’s grave that if I hear any word that starts with a ‘W’ I will shave half of that god awful mustache off of your sorry face!”

Nicole audibly gulped, in pure awe of the power in front of her.

“I can’t employ--” Doc started again but was cut off as Waverly stomped forward with a scowl. “Ok, ok! Let’s hear her out.”

Waverly’s focus turned from Doc and landed firmly on Nicole. Instead of feeling fear, Nicole felt elated; like Waverly was giving her an unfamiliar boost of energy and courage.  _ Or do you just want to impress her? _ “I apologize for my fiancé’s behavior, um--”

_ She’s allowing you to intro--  _ “Nicole. Nicole Haught.”

A soft glint followed by Waverly’s tongue wetting her lips. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Nic. My name is Waverly Earp--” Her face changed instantly back to the one of rage. “Soon to be Waverly Holliday if he can find it in himself to not act an ungrateful fool!”

“Nicole.” She corrected.  _ I hate it when people call me Nic. I am not my father. _

“No.” Waverly responded almost playfully, stepping closer. “I like Nic better.”

“Nic is a man’s--” Doc’s drawl and bravado was back in record time.

“If I wanted your opinion I’d ask, dear.” Waverly snapped as her eyes drifted down Nicole’s body and back up, landing on her eyes with a look Nicole could only categorize as desire. “Now, Nic, please tell us your qualifications. I see you look the part quite well but my man needs…  _ reassurance _ .”

“Well--” Nicole felt her nerves vibrating but she  _ needed _ to stay, even if it meant dealing with this. “I have lived and worked here at 14 Bluff Avenue my entire life.”

“What updates have you done?”

“I built that porch.” Nicole pointed at the newly completed screened in lanai closest to the pool side of the house. “And I resurfaced the pool.”

Doc’s face showed his emotions flicker between annoyed and impressed as he studied her work.

“Wonderful.” Waverly never looked once, her eyes still focused on Nicole. “Carpentry?”

“I can.”

“Electrical?”

“I can.”

“Plumbing?”

“I can.”

“Then what seems to be the problem, dear?” Waverly smiles at her husband-to-be, the sugary sweetness making Nicole’s teeth throb.  _ What is going on? _

“Alright.” Doc sighs looking at Nicole with a bit more promise. “But don’t expect any favors or called in help.” 

“Oh thank you, love.” Waverly pulled him in, kissing him far deeper than one should in the company of a practical stranger. Nicole felt her ears warm as she looked away. “Now go on inside and entertain Bobo while you still have him around.”

Doc smiled dumbly as Waverly placed his stetson back on his head. “See you later, my dove.”

The pair watched him leave and Nicole awkwardly shifted her weight before she felt a slight pressure at her neck. Looking down she found Waverly holding her tie, rubbing her thumb over the fabric where it draped out of the knot.

“This looks excellent on you.” Waverly purred, her eyes slowly drifting into Nicole’s. “I hope you always wear it while you work.”

Nicole nodded, oddly comfortable with how close Waverly was.

“Now that we’ve finished that--” Waverly’s hand drifted up to Nicole’s hair, the slightest touch across the buzzed side of her head. “Can I tell you what I want changed first about Holiday House?”

Nicole stiffened.  _ Changed? _

Waverly let her hand drop to Nicole’s elbow, slipping inside the crook and wrapping softly around her forearm. With a slight tug the brunette was leading her back up towards the house. “I really think the shutters should be a different color.”

Nicole looked down incredulously. 

“You don’t speak much, do you?”

“Color?”

“I was thinking-- lime green.” Waverly’s desired look was back but the mere mention of changing the deep blue shutters had Nicole anything but turned on.  _ Who do you think-- _

“No.”

Waverly giggled. “But you  _ could _ repaint the shutters to a lime green, correct?”

_ No one wants lime green shutters on a saltbox house in New England! This is not the tropics! Tell her to shove that inane idea up that exquisite--  _ Nicole bit her lip as she looked up at the house, her heart pressing into her chest pleading for her to let it be.  _ You get to stay because of her so try to keep it together. You can always paint them back. _

Nicole looked back at Waverly with a look she hoped conveyed angry compliance. 

“I can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song and Inspiration Corner:  
> I heavily read about Rebekah Harkness for this story so any details that seem familiar to her, I gracious took from reading about her.  
> And of course, 'the last great american dynasty' by Taylor Swift.
> 
> Let me know how you like this fic here or over on Twitter, @reusabletears.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends!
> 
> I added a tag about Minor Character Death that I forgot in the original posting of the tags. I apologize for this, it was honestly a mistake and if that changes anything for anyone I apologize. Please reach out to me if you need spoilers to confirm whether or not you still want to read. Twitter: @reusabletears.

_ May 27, 1947 _

_ I finished the shutters for Ms. Earp today. I’ve taken to calling her that instead of Waverly because she refuses to stop calling me Nic. Weirdly, I think I am beginning to like the way Nic sounds coming from her lips. I need to pull myself together. She’s just an eccentric woman out to spend her soon to be husband’s money and just is playing out some weird working man fantasy with me. Right? _

_ Ms. Earp has not let up with her off the cob requests. Every morning when I exit my cottage and look up, she’s there on the upper balcony looking out towards the sea. Before I can truly study her form, it’s like she has eyes in the back of her head because Ms. Earp turns right around to look at me; The smile and wave she produces makes my heart leap. But it’s probably just the anxiety of how she is changing the house. Hopefully. _

_ Bulshar is spending a lot of time around the grounds with Bobo and Doc. That man is pure evil to Watch Hill; trying his best to buy up every large saltbox and turn them into Boarding Houses for the summer crowd. He already owns the mansion next door that sits on the round end of Watch Hill nearest to the Lighthouse. A true beauty hovering over the rocks and surveying the Atlantic with such grace. Too bad the inside has been gutted and turned into a bunch of tiny, undesirable rooms. It's a shame how he overcharges working class people who just want a weekend away. I also keep seeing him speak with Potter, passing the young boy bills and fancy toys. I asked Mrs. Stewart if he was trying to woo her and she gave me the oddest, most fearful look. Should I dare to investigate it? Maybe not yet, 14 Bluff Avenue still stands proudly. Uglier, no doubt, but proud. I cannot be bothered if I still have a house worth protecting, right? _

_.... _

*****

**May 16, 1947**

“This green?”

“No.” Waverly shakes her head before glancing up at Nicole, a slight smirk. “ Limey-er.”

Nicole grits her teeth, looking back at Paul who was sitting behind the new paint counter at the hardware store in Westerly. The pair had been looking, well Nicole was looking and passing options to Waverly periodically, at paint chip cards for over an hour. Her patience was being tested but every time Nicole’s frustrations mounted to a boiling point, Waverly would do something small that appeased it, bringing her back down into a state of calm bliss. That was a whole other nut to crack.

“This?” Nicole pulled an ever brighter lime green from the booklet of possible paints, pushing it across the counter at Waverly. 

“Perfect!” Waverly squealed immediately, grabbing Nicole’s elbow and jumping up and down. Paul smiled incredulously at the display, looking between Nicole and Waverly wondering what his long time customer had gotten herself into. “Oh Nic, you are a doll for this!”

“Do you have the last deep blue trim paint order on file? From when I refreshed the house two years ago?” Nicole asked, ignoring Waverly’s new pet name to the best of her ability even though her face was beginning to warm. Paul nodded, still looking at Waverly. “Can you have the same amount done in this green?”

“Of course.” Paul was grinning.  _ Of course Paul was grinning.  _ “Want it charged to the new account and delivered?”

“Please.”

“Done.” Paul grabbed the paint card and winked as Waverly wandered off towards the pool supplies, softly humming some jazz tune. “Nic. That is new.”

“Paul.” Nicole leaned forward on the counter and glared. “ It’s  _ Nicole _ .”

“The new missus got you clobbered, I see.” Paul winks. “I will have it delivered tomorrow,  _ Nicole _ .”

“Thanks.” Nicole sighs deeply before she hears Waverly squeal from the next aisle over.  _ I am a caretaker, not a babysitter!  _ But she is still drawn to the woman anyway, curious as to what she will want next.

*****

**May 17, 1947**

The sun was making its way down, the orangey glow deepening the color of the ruffled clouds. Nicole was standing in her trousers, suspenders, and white undershirt as she meticulously cleaned the pool of the windy day’s discards. Pool cleaning time was Nicole’s quiet time. She loved the science behind the chemicals just as much as the sound the water made as she moved the net through it.

“I think I like  _ this look _ even better than the coveralls and tie.”

Nicole didn’t need to look up, she knew Waverly was standing in the open gate to the pool. “Ms. Earp.”

“Please call me Waverly.”

Nicole let her head shoot up at that one. “Not until you call me Nicole.”

Waverly ignored her, crossing towards the edge of the pool and slipping off her white pumps. She pulled up lightly on her lime green midi-dress before gracefully sitting on the pool’s edge and letting her feet slowly sink down into the water. Nicole did her best to avoid looking at Waverly’s legs but her eyes were drawn to how tone and muscled her thighs were.  _ She definitely left her skirt up higher just for you. _

“I love the pool.”

Nicole nodded, still looking at Waverly’s legs. She heard a slight giggle emanate from the woman and she drug her eyes up to find a devilish stare. 

“Do you like what you see?”

Nicole did not respond, instead walking further down the pool and netting a whole lot of nothing.  _ What an infuriatingly attractive woman. _

“You can say you do, I won’t mind. I was a dancer and my legs are gifts from that.” Waverly’s voice was getting softer the more she talked; and if Nicole tried hard enough to pay attention, it sounded sweeter as well. “I miss it something awful. The practice, the recitals, my s--"

Waverly’s face dropped. "I just miss it.”

Nicole gave her new boss a sideways glance, feeling the awkwardness of it all. There was something else Waverly meant to say but she didn’t and it intrigued Nicole. “I did not mean to stare.” 

“It’s ok, I liked it.” Waverly’s voice was filled with a truth Nicole was unsure she was ready to hear and she dropped the net in response. Her mind began taking her on a fantasy road trip up Waverly’s calves and between her thighs, ending in flashes of pure bliss.

“I have a question, Nic.” Waverly’s voice was back to normal, interrupting Nicole’s interlude.

“Yes?” 

“Can you fill the pool with champagne?”

_ Absolutely not! _

“I can.” Nicole said against her better judgement. “But you can’t swim in it.”

“Ok.” Waverly nodded, before bringing two fingers up to her lips in thought. “Instead, please tell any guests you meet that you clean the pool with Dom Pérignon.”

*****

**May 20, 1947**

“Ohh, Nic?” Waverly sing-songed, turning Nicole’s dreaded nickname into two syllables. “I have a question!”

Nicole groaned, leaning over to lay the paintbrush on the edge of the paint can before trodding towards the work shed door. With an annoyed flick, she pulled the door open and was met with a grinning Waverly and waving Potter. The young boy’s other hand held gingerly in Waverly’s; the sight making Nicole’s heart skip a beat and her annoyance instantly softened. Waverly bit her lip, knowing full well what was the cause of Nicole’s instant relaxation. 

“Ms. Earp?”

“Potter has come to assist you in your shutter endeavor.” Waverly stepped into Nicole’s space, her free hand brushing against the nape of Nicole’s neck before venturing down to her black tie. Waverly pulled it free from her coveralls, fingering it’s length. Every muscle in Nicole’s body went into tense overdrive to stop herself from taking Waverly’s cheek into her hand. “I have a question.”

“Ok?” Nicole managed to say, her voice only a tad higher than normal.

“Can you build me an arch for my wedding? I want it to be the same hot pink as my darling’s car and our florist needs to be able to tie red roses to it.”

_ That’s appalling.  _ Nicole furrowed her brow.  _ Wait-- _ “The wedding is here?”

“Of course.” Waverly was still fingering her tie, pulling ever so slightly so that the taller woman could feel her presence even more. “This  _ is _ the best place in the world, don’t you think?”

Nicole’s heart was pounding again. 

“I can.”

“That’s swell.”

*****

**May 25, 1947**

“I hate this room.” Waverly groaned, looking around the second tea room, it’s size boasting about half of the ballroom. “What do you think, darling?”

Nicole stood as still as stone, watching as Doc paid more attention to Bobo than he did to his new wife. He had Nicole buy and move in a full-sized casino style poker table and proceeded to sit at it for hours at a time, playing poker with any number of men he was familiar with. Including a man who suspiciously looked a lot like Salvador Dalí. Nicole did not wish to gossip about the house’s new owners but Doc seemed far more similar to Nicole than she had previously realized. Especially now as she watched him share a whiskey bottle with Bobo; their chairs far too close for a game of cards.

“Nic?” Waverly was now smack dab in front of her, her hand raising slowly to its familiar place on her tie. “Do you dance?”

Nicole’s eyes flicked from Doc to Bobo to Waverly. The men were in their own world while Waverly’s eyes made Nicole feel like  _ the _ world. How could Nicole love a woman who so obviously cared little for anyone but herself? 

__ “I can.”

“Very well?” Waverly’s voice was breathier now and she stepped closer, looking up at Nicole through her eyelashes.

“I can.” 

“Ballet?”

“No. Just dance.” 

“Interesting.” Waverly stepped back, turning to Doc. “John Henry, can we move your poker table into the other sitting room? Nic is going to build me a ballet barre.”

“Ballet?” Doc gruffs, still looking at his cards. “Sure dear.”

“I never--” Nicole feels her frustration take over her butterflies.

“But you can?” Waverly’s hazels were back on her and they were far more alluring than they needed to be.

“I can.”

“Good, because I bought a ballet.” The smaller woman took in a deep breath before spinning around, obviously happy with herself. “I can’t wait to see them in here.”

“Then why do I need to make one?” Nicole was confused.

“I didn’t buy a ballet barre, silly goose.” Waverly winked. “Doc let me buy an entire ballet company and I’ll want girls to come here and audition, of course.”

_ Of course. Because money can just buy you whatever you want. _

*****

**June 5, 2020**

Rachel’s brain swam with Waverly Earp’s many crazy ideas, wondering just how this glorious mansion would look with lime green shutters.  _ Probably like a load of shit. _ Philip had just called up the stairs to let her know about Margo’s arrival and dinner in the grand dining room, so she slipped the pink garter back over the leather and pulled the journal to her chest. Suddenly feeling far more protective of it. 

Rachel stood quickly and made her way back down to the first floor, hoping to drag Philip back up to the chest room afterwards. She had questions and that old was going to answer them all. 

_ Why is Waverly marrying Doc when she’s totally in love with Nicole? I ship this ship harder than Calizona and there better be a better ending for them or so help me, Meredith Grey. _

_ Was Doc boinking Bobo? If so, the 1940s were gayer than I originally thought. _

_ Why does Nicole keep mentioning Bulshar? Dude seems important. _

_ Do you know Potter? He's probably as old as you and all old people know each other. _

Rachel was still mulling over these thoughts as she walked into the kitchen. She caught sight of a short, stocky elderly woman holding two plates in the center of the room and smiling warmly.

“Hello, you must be Rachel!” She wobbled towards the singer. “Please take these, they are for you and Billy. The dining room is off to the left.”

Rachel nodded, slipping the journal under her arm and grabbing the plates. She followed the woman’s instructions and found herself walking into a large yellow room, a long mahogany table with ten beautiful dining room chairs flanking it. Holt was seated at the head, buttering his dinner roll in an uncomfortably looking motion. Margo was seated to his right, a glass of a deep red liquid in her hand. Finally, Billy was two seats over from the left of Holt, his eyes entirely focused on his phone.

_ Be brave. Walk up to that table like you own the place. _

“Ah, Rachel!” Margo’s harsh tone took Rachel by surprise, her body immediately drooping into a meek disposition. She nodded her head up as a greeting before stepping to Billy, placing the plates down in front of their spots at the table. “You are just in time, I have your paperwork right here.”

Rachel’s stomach did a flip as she sat down, pulling her chair in. She placed the journal next to her plate and grabbed a fork. A loud slap and this thick stack of papers held together by a large alligator clip was now partially inside her mashed potatoes. Her nerves were immediate and she no longer was interested in dinner. 

"You can read it if you like." Margo said, sipping from her glass. "Or if you'd rather be done with it all, I have a pen right here."

Rachel tried to smile as she used her fork to scrape her food off the corner before pushing her plate back to begin skimming the novel in front of her. She felt eyes on her from all sides but she didn't know what to do, her blood was pumping too fast to ignore the contract for later. So Rachel pressed on against her better judgement. Words and phrases began popping out at her, Rachel’s eyes beginning to cross as she became more and more overwhelmed.

_ 150,000k upfront signing bonus… _

_ 5 year contract with bonuses... _

_ 30% royalty rate per authorized play… _

_ Magpie Records retains rights to recorded masters…  _

_ Required three albums. 40% take after meeting required minimum... _

_ Required 3 videos per album. 20% take... _

Rachel was going to be sick. This was just the sparknotes version and she was already confused. 

"You like?" Margo asked, leaning forward with a pen. “It’s very competitive, I almost didn’t even offer it to you!”

"I-- I am still reading uhh--"

Billy tensed next to Rachel as Margo’s eyes narrowed.  _ Oh no. _

"Right. Of course. Well, please keep reading." Margo’s gaze moved to the journal, her hand reaching out to snatch it. "What could this b--"

Before Rachel could fully react, the door leading to the hallway flung open, slamming against the wall with a loud thud. The older woman’s hand flew back, her eyes diverted to the noise long enough for Rachel to grab the journal and pull it back, slipping it under her leg.

"It's my lyric book… sorry, just don't like people to look at it. Messes with the vibes. You know how it is." Rachel threw up an awkward peace sign in an attempt to sell it.

"Vibes?" Margo turns, her lips pursed. "Fine, artists need their space to create I figure. Holt, will you get your useless ass off that seat and go check if the front door was left open. Damn drafts are aggravating my high blood pressure."

"Yes, Mam." Holt nodded, standing.

Rachel’s eyes were back on the contract when an idea came to her.  _ Please go for this. Please go for this. _ "Mrs. Clanton?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have a digital version of this? I can’t read paper well in the dark and I wanna go on a walk down to the beach to go over this… if I could?" Rachel did her best to seem honest.

"Sure. Just let me pull it up now and email it to you. But please let Billy go with you, wouldn't want anything to happen to our little rising star, now would we?!" Margo grabbed her blackberry, not picking up on Rachel’s plan.

"Thanks."

*****

**June 7, 1947**

It was four hours before the wedding and Nicole's focus was entirely on Waverly’s odd request for shaping for the outdoor seating. Instead of just two rectangles with an aisle in the middle, she had requested two semi-circles sitting at forty-five degree angles with a thin aisle that led to Nicole’s hideous arch. Her workshop was starting to look like a princess dream house with each passing day of odd painting requests. Nicole should be more infuriated but just like her workshop, she was becoming more a part of Waverly as well. And it scared her.

"Nicole!" Potter yelled from the other semi circle. "I finished!"

Nicole smiled, placing out her last chair on her side before walking quickly to where she had left Potter. She had given the young boy a small brush and the cream paint Waverly had requested the chairs be. 

She kneeled next to him, admiring his work. "Your touch-up skills are top notch Potter."

"You think so?" The boy's big brown eyes were looking up at her with admiration.

"I know so. You have the talent."

"She's not wrong Potter!" Waverly exclaimed, suddenly behind Nicole in what looked like a night coat. "You have done a beautiful job."

Nicole stood to greet her boss with a nod but noticed instantly that Waverly’s eyes were puffy, her face sullen. "Are you ok, Waverly?"

Fear trapezed through Waverly’s eyes before it settled back into her usual playful glint. A new wall was placed up. "Of course, I am to be married today!"

"Like Mommy and Daddy were?" Potter looked up, his face curious but not sad.

Waverly knelt down. "Kind of. But I am sure your parent's wedding was filled with even more love than mine will be. How else would they have made someone as wonderful as you?"

Potter grinned wide. "Weddings make babies? Can I come? I want you to make a little boy for me to play with."

"Of course you can come!" Waverly ignored the meat of the question, instead clapping her hands. "Do you have a suit?"

"Yeah. But I ain't got a tie like Nicole’s." 

"No matter." Nicole piped in, in awe of the softness she just watched Waverly display. She reached to her neck and loosened her tie before pulling it over her head. Leaning down next to Waverly, their arms now touching, she leaned forward and tied it onto Potter's neck. "This was your Father's and now it is yours."

"It's too long."

"Only for now. But someday you will grow into it. You’ll be big and powerful, just like your father."

"But I wanna be a caretaker like you."

Nicole let out a breath and Waverly wrapped one of her hands around her wrist, squeezing lightly. Warmth cascaded up from the touch and Nicole's head began to swim.

"Only the best caretakers wear neck-ties." Waverly responds, reaching her hands forward to tuck the long end of the tie into Potter's pants. "There, now you look positively handsome. Run along and show your Mother."

"Ok!" Potter grinned wildly and began running full speed towards the house, Nicole chuckling as she stood. 

"What color are you wearing to the wedding?" Waverly asked, still kneeling and looking at the ground where Potter was sitting.

"I'm not invited." The redhead replied simply, flipping her collar back down.

Waverly stood slowly and began to walk away. Nicole felt a pang of guilt but before she reached the end of the curved row she turned and locked eyes with the redhead. "You are coming, like it or not. I expect you at my dressing room thirty minutes prior to start time. Be dressed to change."

"Dressed to change?"

"See you later, Nic!" And with that, the woman was drifting away, her night coat fluttering behind her.

***** 

**June 5, 2020**

Rachel hurried up the hill towards the pool cottage, clutching the journal and the contract to her chest as she maneuvered her feet in the dark. It was easy to lose Billy at the beach when she pointed out the bright bonfire of some locals kids their age; the piano of Lizzo's "Truth Hurts" almost alluring enough for her to follow him over. 

At the cusp of the hill, Rachel followed the pool fence around until it met the corner of the cottage. Once there she sunk down to the ground and pulled out her cellphone and opened the contacts. A few clicks and her phone was ringing.

"Hey, girl! How's it going?"

"Hey, Jer. Could you put Robin on the phone? I need to talk to him." Rachel stage whispered, keeping her eyes peeled for any stray Clantons.

"Sure thing--" Rachel heard weird fabric rustling before a sleepy sounding Robin groaned.

"Rach?"

"Hey, uhh, sorry for calling ya so--" Rachel pulled the phone back from her head and saw eight pm staring back. "so late, Grandpa. Eight pm, really? Anyway-- can you do me a favor?"

"Been up since four am mixing Valley's new ep."

"Still a Grandpa."

Robin sighed and she heard a light click on. "What do you need, kid?"

"Uhhh, I made a mistake and I accepted Magpie Record's trip out to Rhode Island and she handed me a recording contract to read over." Rachel hurriedly said. 

"Dank. You gonna sign?"

"Can I send it to you to look over? And maybe call me tomorrow and we can talk about it?" 

"Sure kid." Robin's voice softened. "Email it and I'll read it first thing in the morning."

Rachel felt instant relief. "Thanks. I owe you so much, Jett. Later."

"Later."

Rachel clicked the end call button and leaned back, slipping her phone into her pants. She instantly pulled up the journal and slipped off the garter; Rachel would be lying if she didn't admit she was more excited to read about Waverly’s impending wedding than her own record deal. The stress of it had subsided a bit with the knowledge that Robin would be looking it over for her. He was her preferred music producer, anyway. It makes sense, right?

Rachel shook herself of the worries and opened to where she left off, anticipation flooding her veins. 

_ June 7, 1947 _

_ Today was the best and worst day of my life. Waverly  _ _ Earp _ _ Holliday kissed me tonight.  _

_ But she also got married to a lying, thieving scoundrel who plans to ruin everything I've built here.  _

_ … _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think down below!


	4. Chapter 4

_ June 7, 1947 _

_ … _

_ The suit Waverly gifted me is incredible. How did she know my size? I've never known anyone who could look at a person and determine their suit size. I felt honored to wear what she gave me, although I also felt terrible. She dressed me in white at her own wedding. Doc wore a deep blue. _

_ What does that even mean? _

_ … _

*****

**June 7, 1947**

Nicole did what Waverly asked. At thirty minutes to start time, she walked to the lower guest suite on the right side of the house wearing a plain pair of tan trousers, simple white button up, black suspenders, and her black work boots. Once situated at the door, Nicole breathed in deeply and set her chest in a way she hoped seemed casual, even though she was buzzing with nervous excitement. Nicole knocked three times and nodded to herself.  _ Here goes nothing. _

A blonde woman with a sweet smile opened the door, looking her up and down before turning back, "He's here, Waverly, and he’s cute!”

Nicole groaned.

"Nic is a woman, Chrissy! I do not understand how no one can see that. Please let her in and then go find Kate, you both need to get Bulshar's dog into position."

“Dog?”

“Yes, Dog.” Waverly called from the next room. 

Nicole gulped at the sound of Waverly’s honeyed voice wafting in from the room. She looked at Chrissy who gave her an apologetic but heated look.  _ How did she hear-- _

"My apologies, Nic. Please come in."

"It's actually Nicole, Ms. Earp insists--"

"Sure dear." Chrissy grinned, tapping Nicole on the shoulder once before walking into the hall and shutting the door, leaving Nicole with Waverly. Alone.

"Come on in, Nic! Sorry about Chrissy, she has been a bit khaki wacky lately but--" Waverly paused for dramatic effect. "I won’t bite."

_ Sure. _ Nicole thought as she rubbed her slightly clammy palms over her trousers before stepping down the hall into the main part of the suite. Waverly was partially blocked by a free standing full length mirror and as Nicole stepped around, her breath audibly caught in her throat at the sight of Waverly in her wedding dress. This was not the usual modest wedding gown that Nicole was used to seeing. It was a light pink instead of white, long and flowy but tight; hugging all of Waverly’s toned areas in the best possible way. It lacked the popular sleeves and lace across the chest, instead utilizing thin straps to highlight Waverly’s collar bones. Nicole was struggling to get her words out as her jaw stayed slightly slack and her eyes moved over Waverly’s form.

"Just the reaction I was looking for." Waverly cooed, bringing Nicole’s eyes up to meet her hazels. Problem being that Nicole saw an odd sadness in them competing with a fire that was definitely not related to Nicole. She pushed down the urge to hold the woman. 

“You look so beautiful, Waverly.” Nicole finally said, unable to mask the hint of jealousy in her voice. "Mr. Holliday will be... pleased." 

"I could care less about what he thinks." Waverly shrugged, stepping into Nicole’s space. "It was _your_ _reaction_ that mattered to me."

Nicole furrowed her brow. "But--"

"No ‘buts’, Nic." Waverly placed a finger over her lips before grabbing her wrist and pulling her towards the walk-in closet. "I have your outfit in here."

"My outfit?" Nicole was still dazed and confused, wondering how a woman could openly flirt with her while still going through with marrying someone else.

"I distinctly remember telling you to dress to change and you did just that so come on! I am going to show you your reward."

Nicole let herself be dragged into the long closet, filled to the brim with fancy dresses and suits. Waverly pulled on the light chain and the back of the closet lit up, Nicole’s eyes zeroing in on a dashing full white tuxedo that was hung from the last rack. 

“Well, I guess it’s my reward, really.” Waverly whispered, looking up reverently at Nicole.

“I have never seen an all white suit before.” Nicole commented, her eyes drifting across each piece of the suit as she walked slowly towards it.

“That’s because I had it custom made just for you. Please put it on, quickly mind you, and then meet me at the mirror.” Waverly’s hand lightly grazed between Nicole’s shoulder blades before turning and leaving, the click of door letting Nicole know she was truly alone. 

Nicole stepped forward and caressed the suit, the fabric felt odd and nothing like her own wool tuxedo back inside her cottage. With a large sigh and heart full, Nicole stripped off her outer clothes before tugging down the trousers from the hanger and pulling them up her legs. The fit was the latest style and the waist was perfect; almost as if it had been tailored on her body. She found a pair of maroon suspenders under the coat and grinned, laying them on a shelf as she put on her dress shirt; buttoning with care before slipping it into her trousers. Nicole placed on her suspenders before slipping on the white dress socks and shoes. Finally, she grabbed the white bow tie and tied it, then slid on her coat. It all fit perfectly. Nicole shook off the warm feeling of appreciation the suit brought her. No one had gone out of their way to give something so nice to Nicole in her entire life. It was too much coming from a woman who could not be hers.

Waverly was too much and maybe, in some ways, not enough.

Nicole’s sinuses began to burn as she grabbed her clothes and exited the closet, placing them on the bench beside the bed. An appreciative groan reminded her that she wasn’t alone.

Nicole still had to show Waverly.

“I--” Nicole gulped, looking at her new white shoes. “I can’t possibly wear--”

“Oh, you can.” Waverly’s voice drew her eyes up. “Now come and look in the mirror.”

Nicole begged her feet to stay but they minded Waverly’s words and crossed to the mirror. Her eyes raked over her own body, appreciating just how good she looked in white. How it complimented all her features, especially her copper hair.  _ How? _

“I have two more things for you.” Waverly said, grasping Nicole’s wrist lightly to turn her attention. “The first thing is something old--”

Nicole was so focused on the teal color in Waverly’s hazel eyes that it took her a few moments to notice Waverly had shoved a fuzzy box into her hand. She blinked and looked down, opening it to find a set of gold cufflinks with deep maroon gemstone settings.  _ I wonder what-- _

“Carnelian.” Waverly says, pulling a cufflink from the box. “Deep red Carnelian to be exact. They were my Father’s; the stone represents motivation, endurance, and courage. All traits you have in spades.”

“Thank you.” Nicole watched as Waverly attached both cufflinks to her dress shirt sleeves, taking care to rub circles on Nicole’s inner wrist as she completed her task. “I am touched.”

“Last thing.” Waverly slammed the cufflink box shut and switched it for a maroon handkerchief, which she laid into Nicole’s open palm. “Something new. Made for only you, Nicole.”

The caretaker’s heart leapt at hearing her actual name coming from Waverly’s lips, her mouth dry as she looked at her initials expertly stitched into the corner.  _ How am I not marrying her?  _ She looked up, her eyes meeting Waverly’s and she held them as the smaller woman pulled the handkerchief from her hands and folded it into a quick pocket square. With a quick movement, one of Waverly’s hands was on Nicole’s sternum while the other slid the handkerchief down into her suit jacket. Nicole longed to kiss her and her hands agreed, reaching forward to rest at the curve of Waverly’s hips.

“You look so handsome.” Waverly said softly, looking up at Nicole through her eyelashes. “I wish that I was--”

Nicole felt her stomach flip. “I wish that as well.”

Waverly let out a ragged gasp before pulling Nicole into herself. The redhead wrapped her arms around Waverly protectively, listening to her cry lightly into her suit coat. Everything felt so wrong but it was difficult to imagine being anywhere other than right here; right in this moment with Waverly.

*****

**June 6, 2020**

Rachel was getting better and better at avoiding Margo Clanton with every passing hour in the day. The woman really wanted an answer and Rachel had only emailed Robin around twelve hours ago so she was doing her best to give the man time. She was now back up on the third floor, curled on the houndstooth couch with Nicole’s journal placed across her lap.  _ I wish this thing was a TV show instead of a journal; could really use a visual to go with these meager ass descriptions. Nicole waxes lyrical about Waverly for literal pages but can’t even tell me what kind of wedding dress she was wearing. So sus. I wonder if Robin has-- _

Her thought was broken by her Savage x Animal Crossing ringtone.  _ Speak of the devil! _

**“I'm a savage yeah**

**Classy, bougie, ratchet yeah**

**Sassy, moody, nasty hey, hey, yeah”**

“Robin!” Rachel almost yelled as she answered, her eyes darting to the stairs in slight fear. 

“Hi kid. How’s the mansion? Find any ghosts yet?”

Rachel smiled slightly, her head turning to the window. “Uh well I did-- uh, sure. Did you read over the contract, by chance?”

“So serious-- but yeah, just finished giving it a fine toothed comb. It’s a pretty standard new artist contract, ‘cept Magpie would really be the one benefiting from it in the long run. Margo Clanton seems to think you’ll be wow-ed by a lot of these percentages but honestly, I wouldn’t sign it. Especially since she wants your masters.”

“My masters?” Rachel asked.

“Yeah, Magpie would own your songs fully even though you’d get a percentage of the royalties. No bueno. In this day and age you gotta own your own masters; especially if you write your music. Ain’t you read about Taylor Swift and Scooter Braun?”

“You know I ain’t into popular--”

“Right. Got it. Indie. Says the girl who got famous on TikTok for pop music.”

Rachel scowled at the remark as her mind swam. “So… what should I do?”

“Honestly… this contract isn’t so crazy over the top that Margo would be worried another label could be competition. Hell, some of the indie labels might do you worse than this. We need something to come to the negotiation table with…”

“Like dirt on the Clantons or Magpie?” Rachel’s gears were churning. “I can talk to Billy.”

“Cool, Jer and I will make some calls in the network.”

“Awesome.” Rachel grinned.  _ Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all?  _ “Blackmail. Is this how I know I’ve made it big?”

“It’s not blackmail… it’s negotiations! But yes, you are a big deal Valdez! Oh and before I forget, I finished mixing your ep a few days ago; can I send it over for your final listen through?” 

“Please. Thanks dude, you rock. I’ll let you know what I find out from Billy.”

“Sounds good.”

*****

_ June 7, 1947 _

_ … _

_ Kate, Waverly’s confidant from St. Louis, brought me close to actual anger during the libations. How could someone who acts like they care about Waverly know everything that she knows about Doc Holliday and still let her marry him? _

_ If I had even known a sliver of what they told me I’d--  _

_ I don’t know what I’d do. But I would do something, anything for her.  _

_ For Waverly. _

_ … _

*****

**June 7, 1947**

The wedding was charming, if a little gauche. Nicole would find it forgetful if not for her odd relationship with Waverly. It felt kind of like a waking nightmare to be seated on Waverly’s side, in Waverly’s chosen white suit, with Waverly’s favor. And Nicole knew she had that as Waverly made it a point to turn and look her dead in the eyes at choice parts of the ceremony. The admiration was clear as day. How did Nicole go from working for John Henry Holliday to wanting to be the one who marries his wife? In only a few weeks, at that. 

Unfortunately Waverly was his wife now, her lithe form now dancing with him in the ballroom but staring back at Nicole every chance she got.  _ God, if you are real, you are so cruel. _

“It’s a beautiful dress, is it not?” A woman almost purrs, sliding up next to Nicole as she draws her eyes around at the crowd to make it seem like she wasn’t staring. “You need not be worried. I am well aware of your… arrangement.”

“Arrangement?” Nicole huffed, turning to see Waverly’s friend Kate. “I’m afraid not.”

“Waverly wants what Waverly wants. And she  _ arranged _ you in this outfit, did she not?” Kate handed her a glass of champagne as Nicole allowed herself another peek of Waverly, Doc dipping her low.

“She did.”

“Then it is arranged.”

Nicole’s frustration was mounting or was it the jealousy of her sightline, it didn’t matter, Kate would take the brunt of it. “What is in the water in St. Louis that has you all speaking in riddles?”

Kate laughed a full laugh at her expense as Nicole sipped grumpily from her glass. “Sorry, I am not used to needing to be so direct. Everyone in St. Louis knows everything there is to know. My apologies.”

“I’m just-- I don’t mean to take it out on you.”

“Do you not want Waverly back?” Kate asked plainly, her voice lower as the live band switches playing a jazzier tune, leading people past them and onto the floor.

“No. I do.” Nicole replied as Waverly’s eyes searched her out in the crowd. “More than I thought I would.”

“Then it’s John Henry.” Kate nodded, again leaving Nicole out.

“What about him?”

“He’s a lot like Waverly in a way-- He wants what he wants.” Kate looked at her, sighing again at her facial expression, how it revealed her lack of knowledge on the matter. “John Henry comes from a deep oil money and has never known poverty; or anything close to it for that matter. He was taught to throw money at anything and everything; gleaning plenty of trinkets along the way. That doesn’t always work out with people or places so he has also learned how to be cruel to get what he cannot pay for. Like when he wanted Waverly.”

Nicole stiffened. Waverly’s laughter reaching her as Kate’s comment felt like a dagger in her spine.  _ If he forced her-- _

“Or this house. Bulshar’s favor. Bobo’s-- well--” Kate did a few suggestive hand gestures. “John Henry  _ takes _ what he wants. Waverly  _ arranges _ what she wants. Similar but different.”

There were too many avenues to choose from but Nicole went with her first thought. “What do you mean he  _ took  _ the house? He bought--”

“No.” Kate touched Nicole’s shoulder slightly before pushing her to a different spot near the dance floor, one where Waverly could easily keep her eyes on Nicole. It brought back the sad butterflies as she watched Doc forcefully kiss Waverly, her eyes wide open. _ Why? _ “John Henry did buy the house but not after he told most of St. Louis how much of a steal it was.”

“A steal?” Nicole turned to Kate, gritting her teeth. “This house is--”

“Seems the former owner, Peter Stewart, allowed Bulshar to bring him to one of John Henry’s famous poker nights after helping him with his investments. Doc cheated and robbed him blind, pushing him to take a loan from Bulshar. Peter never saw what hit him and I guess he had too much pride to step aside and pay off the debt fair and square. They whittled away that poor fellow’s money until finally-- well-- we heard his heart just gave out. Funny how  _ often _ that happens around people like Doc and Bulshar.”

The blood surged past Nicole’s eardrums as she gripped her hands into fists, feeling her nails dig divots into her palms. Peter was conned. Peter was manipulated. Peter was killed.  _ That piece of lying, dirty-- _

“Then the mansion was bought for mere pennies. Though, I’ve heard Bulshar is stopping at nothing to buy it up from Doc. He was too busy buying up the other side of the peninsula when Doc grabbed this gem. Too bad Waverly is so fond of it here.”

Nicole’s eyebrow flicked and before she could reply, the band’s singer came over the microphone. 

“Gracious guests of John Henry Holliday please turn your attention to the stage as he does his husbandly duty and pulls off his bride’s garter. Who will get to keep the precious prize? Only Mr. Holliday knows!”

Kate and Nicole felt their bodies being pushed as people gathered near the stage, Bobo setting out a single chair as Waverly sits in it. Doc is off to the right puffing on a cigarette, his face steeped with indifference and lack of motivation. The entire spectacle seems  _ odd  _ to Nicole, like a forced show of ownership. Waverly skims the crowd with her eyes until they meet Nicole’s, a small smile playing across her lips.

“How did a middle class divorcée do it?”

Nicole hears the gossip from a few women to her right but her eyes stay fixed on Waverly’s as Doc crosses the stage.

“I heard she killed her last husband. Champ Hardy, I think? He wasn’t even living in The Grove.”

Doc leans down, knee to the hardwood as Nicole feels her fingers dig into her palm again.

“Did you see the house? She’s ruined it with her nasty taste. Watch Hill used to be prestigious.”

Doc removed his hat and pushed it roughly against Waverly’s face, causing the room to open into fits of laughter. He then leaned down and grabbed the hem of her dress and began ripping it, the laughter mounting. Nicole anger pushed her a few steps forward but Kate grabbed her shoulder, stopping her movement. Waverly’s face, however, showed no change and she continued to look at Nicole even as her dress was being ripped.

“She’s making him into an  _ animal _ . Holliday was an American dynasty but look at it now. Disgraceful.”

The ripping sound ceased and Nicole let her eyes drop for a second to the hot pink wedding garter slipped high on Waverly’s thigh. She heard Doc’s loud whoop of approval before he began slipping it down. Nicole looked back at Waverly, she winked at her once before turning her attention on Doc, pulling him in for a deep kiss once he claimed the garter as his own. Nicole felt sick and she turned away, walking as quickly as she could to the opposite side of the house. She wanted nothing more than fresh air and a way to get Waverly off of her mind.

*****

The expensive bottle of Dom Perignon Nicole lifted on her way out of the ballroom was too oakey for her working class tastes; at least that’s what Nicole told herself before she dumped the mostly full bottle into the pool.  _ For Waverly. _ Nicole thought to herself as she laid haphazardly in a pool chair, too melancholy to move inside her cottage. A whisper of some sour words rattled around in her ears and she turned, looking back towards the house. On the lower lanai she could barely make out the form of a woman and a man in a heated argument. She didn’t want to get up but something inside her placed the empty bottle on the concrete and pulled her from the chair, walking slowly to the corner of the pool.

From there she could make out that the woman was Waverly, the bottom of her torn dress wafting in the slight ocean wind. Nicole squinted, taking in only enough information about the man to determine it was not Doc. This man’s coat was long, almost to the ground, and his hat was shaped funny. Not at all the stetsons of Doc’s old west taste.  _ No, that couldn’t be. _ It was Bulshar and the anger was back in Nicole, fiery deep in her soul.  _ Peter. Oh Peter, what did you do? _

Before she could decide whether or not to approach, Waverly flung her hands into the air and began to run towards her cottage. Nicole felt her heart flutter as Bulshar turned for the house, obviously uninterested in giving chase. She turned and crossed to the gate, feeling Waverly crash into her once she flung it open.

“Hey, hey what are you--” Nicole barely got out before Waverly’s mouth was on hers, soft and deep. She should have tasted like cigarettes or champagne, instead she tasted exactly like Nicole always thought she would. Just like  _ Waverly. _

Once she remembered where they were and what day it was, Nicole broke the kiss, her eyes flickering back up to the house. “Waverly, we can’t.”

“I can.” Waverly responded, her eyes glimmering. 

“But--”

_ “I can.” _

And Waverly’s mouth was back onto Nicole’s, exactly where she wanted it to be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Corner:  
> 'Savage' by Megan Thee Stallion (The Savage x Animal Crossing Mix by LLusion)  
> 'the last great american dynasty' by Taylor Swift.
> 
> Please tell me what you think here or over on twitter, @reusabletears.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone's holidays have been spectacular.

_ September 1, 1947 _

_ Bulshar has been over every day this week to bother Doc about selling the house to him. I tried my best to stay out of their way but Doc kicked a hole in the dance studio wall after a fight with Bobo. As I repaired the plaster, Doc asked me to watch over Waverly while he was gone for the month. According to him, this was her house and he wouldn't sell it to Bulshar until she was done with it. _

_ I wanted to tell him how I watch over her always but that would not have gone over well. Especially since she stays in my bed while he is away. _

*****

_ September 15, 1947 _

_ Waverly is everything my life has been missing and more. She’s bright, clever, caring, and engaging. We can spend entire days silently enjoying each other's company without stress or intention. How is it that a man like Doc Holliday can intercept and marry such a woman but exile her to his summer home? I hate just being out of her sight; being in St. Louis without her would be unimaginable. _

_ My only worry is that I keep seeing her meet with Bulshar or Bobo down by the gate. She assures me that she is just being cordial but I can't help but fear she will soon leave for St. Louis forever. Selling me and 14 Bluff Avenue for her former life of glitz and glam.  _

_ ***** _

_ October 8, 1947 _

_ Doc has returned to the house, leaving my bed the coldest it has been in months. Their gigantic fights on the lanai have tested my ability to not run to Waverly. I only want to offer her comfort when I hear how broken her voice sounds, but I know I can’t. She goes down the rocks to stare off into the ocean, even as the wind has started to become bitterly cold. I can't let him see me with her so I leave little things around the house for her to find. Small wooden trinkets I have carved that remind me of the beauty of her soul. She likes this one mermaid with deep brown, wild locks that I made after a dream. Her eyes danced with joy for a quick moment and I savor the memory when I lay down to sleep every night. _

_ ***** _

_ October 11, 1947 _

_ Mrs. Stewart told me that she heard Doc lost hundreds of thousands of dollars to Bobo in poker. How could he be so careless with so much? That's more than I'd ever obtain in three lifetimes and Doc lost that in only a few hours. The fights between Waverly and Doc are exclusively about money and more directly, how much of it she spends. While I agree she is excessive, at least she has something to show for it. Doc just plays cards and signs checks; not nearly as exquisite as funding and curating a full ballet.  _

_ I feel tightness in my chest thinking about Mrs. Stewart’s ailing health and her frequent coughing. Potter needs her to be fit as a fiddle and she needs to work in the house to pay for her medicine. I want to plead this case to Waverly but she avoids me now that her husband has returned. Honestly, this is probably the best course of action. I fear what Doc would do if he knew the places I take her when she enters my cottage. Places, I can tell from her eyes, she has never been before me. _

_ I love her so much that seeing them together brings me physical pain. _

_ ***** _

_ October 23, 1947 _

_ I have no life but this _

_ I have no life but this,  _

_ To lead it here;  _

_ Nor any death, but lest  _

_ Dispelled from there;  _

__

_ Nor tie to earths to come,  _

_ Nor action new,  _

_ Except through this extent,  _

_ The realm of you. _

_ \--Emily Dickinson _

_ The realm of Waverly is vast. If she asked me to care for it, I’d leave 14 Bluff Avenue in a second. _

_ ***** _

_ November 3, 1947 _

_ Bulshar drinks often with our boss; the end is definitely on the horizon. I hope the savings I have placed aside can keep Mrs. Stewart and Potter afloat for a while. I need to talk to Waverly. She has to do something. _

_ ***** _

_ November 5, 1947 _

_ Waverly agreed! She refused to sell the house and she even convinced Doc to agree to it as well. Bulshar’s anger was heard across the grounds. I, for one, have never been so happy to see a vehicle throw my marble chips across the yard. I will re-level the driveway a thousand times to see Bulshar’s disheartened face one more time. _

_ November 9, 1947 _

_ I found John Henry Holliday dead in his car this morning and in almost the exact same position as Peter Stewart. I watched with Waverly as the corner loaded up Doc’s body, his stetson left sitting in the driveway like a grave marker. Unlike Mrs. Stewart, Waverly did not cry. She just gripped my wrist so hard that she drew blood. I didn’t mind of course, I’d do anything to bring her comfort but she is back to avoiding me again. Instead of grieving among us, she has been down at the rocks, declining everything except a coat. _

_ Something unnatural is at work here and I fear for Waverly. I fear for us all. _

_ ***** _

**November 9, 1947**

Nicole slipped, reaching out to a rock face in order to keep herself from falling flat out on the ground. Waverly had been out near the tip of the rocks for hours, enduring the cold and the spray of high tide. Nicole was watching her from the house the entire time, hopeful for the moment that Waverly would stand and retreat back to the warmth; but that moment never arrived. So here she was, her big woolen coat in hand, coming to retrieve her love from the edge of Rhode Island. As she approached she watched Waverly take in a large breath, the tell-tale sign that the woman knew she was coming.

“I’m fine, Nic.” Waverly’s voice was stern, her shoulders rolling back.

“You’re cold.” Nicole ignored, stepping close enough to lay the coat around her shoulders. “Please come back with me to the house. I will run you a warm bath.”

Waverly did not respond, instead looking away from Nicole out towards the sea. A prickly sensation rolled across her skin as she tried not to be jealous of a dead man.  _ Nothing good comes from thinking ill of the dead, even if they were terrible in life.  _ Nicole pulled her scarf tighter before shoving her hands into her jacket.  _ If she won’t come back, then I won’t leave. _

At least twenty minutes passed before Nicole found her toes beginning to tingle as the water’s spray soaked through her pants, dripping down into her boots.

“Please, Waverly.” Nicole decided to beg. “I don’t want to see you get sick.”

“Getting sick would be a better alternative to this.” Waverly said, her face slowly turning. Nicole noticed her eyes were as dark as she’d ever seen them; the sadness was deep, maybe too deep for Nicole to swim. 

“My condolences for your husband but please, honor his memory by returning to the house.” Nicole tried to stay civil but she was feeling her own burn, Waverly’s extreme hatred of her husband seemingly lost in the Atlantic. All that Nicole could see now in Waverly was an assumed longing for someone that wasn’t her. And God, did it hurt.

“My husband has nothing to--” Waverly stopped and set her jaw. “Go. Please.”

“No, not  _ without _ you. I--” Nicole reached out to touch Waverly’s shoulder. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

Waverly didn’t immediately respond but Nicole watched as her eyes seemed to go through a memory wheel, each passing clip descending Waverly deeper into the depths of someplace Nicole was not allowed to follow. 

“He did die too soon, you know?” Waverly laughed empitly and it brought a new frustration up in Nicole, her teeth suddenly grinding shut. “I didn’t get to spend all his money yet.”

“Excuse me?” Nicole felt her temperature rise. “A man is dead.”

“A man you hated.” Waverly stood, her face now set for a fight. “Just because I’ve had sex with you doesn’t mean you get to tell me how to live my life Nic Haught!”

“ _ It’s Nicole!” _ Nicole snapped. “And sorry for giving a shit about you! I guess my care was wasted on a stuck up, money crazed, mad woman!”

_ “You  _ haven’t seen mad!” Waverly pointed her finger in Nicole’s face. “I cannot deal with this right now, so I need you to leave, Nic.  _ Now _ .”

“Oh--” Nicole nodded, her entire body shaking with anger. “I can do that.”

“This might be a great time to tell you that I’m also selling the house to Bulshar-- seeing as I ‘need more money to spend.’ Like you know  _ anything _ about my struggles. It’s always just you and this  _ stupid _ house!”

“Of course, of course you’d go back on your word.” Nicole slammed her eyes shut, tears close to being shed. “Can’t wait to tell Potter.”

And with that, Nicole was slamming her feet to the ground the whole way back to her cottage.

*****

**November 14, 1947**

Nicole was avoiding Waverly.

But Nicole wasn’t angry with her, not in the slightest. Frustrated? Yes. Hurt by her words? Of course. But she wasn’t angry. Even with the impending sale of the house looming over them all, Nicole still mostly felt disappointment that she had allowed her jealous feelings cloud her love for the obviously pained Waverly. And there was something more there. The feeling that Waverly was not at all forthcoming about the real reason why she spent most of her time on the balcony or down by the rocks. And if there was any future for them, she needed to figure that out.

The morning air was warmer than usual when she stepped out of her cottage. The redhead brought her eyes up to Waverly’s balcony, expecting to see the woman there with her pink nightgown flowing in the wind. She wasn’t though and Nicole felt a bit of confusion as she scanned all the usual spots where Waverly liked to be. She wasn’t there either. Nicole tightened her necktie and shoved it down her coveralls before crossing towards the gate, determined to somehow make amends.

As she crested the hill, Nicole heard a giggling noise coming from the garage. It sounded a bit like Potter and Nicole didn’t want him inside of there unsupervised. As she neared the side door, another voice emanated and her heart skipped a beat.

“Hold him still, Potter, I’ve almost got the legs done.”

“But he’s squirmy!”

“I know,” Waverly chuckled something fierce, her voice the lightest Nicole had ever heard. “But we will make Nicole less mad if you hold him tighter.”

“I thought you called her Nic?” Potter grunted, obviously struggling with something. Nicole put her hand on the door handle but didn’t turn it, wanting to hear Waverly’s response.

“I do but--” Waverly paused, a weird wet sound following. “I shouldn’t. And you should make sure to still call her Nicole. That’s what she wants.”

“Like how people call me Potter even though that’s not my real name?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“If that’s what she wants then why do you call her Nic?”

Nicole closed her eyes, her body tensing at the rejection she knew she was about to hear.

“Have you seen a movie before?” Waverly asked. 

“Mmhmm.”

“The people in those movies are actors and they are given a script that tells them what to say, but they don’t mean the things they say. I-- I do the same thing with Nicole. I call her Nic for a reason but it's just acting. I am following a script.” Waverly’s voice is meek, almost calm. Nothing like the playful glint it is around the house. Pieces begin to fall into place and Nicole swallows thickly. 

“I don’t get it.” Potter says, his voice even and childlike.

“That’s fine.” Waverly sighs, like a weight had been lifted. “Now un-latch his collar so I can dye his neck.”

At that Nicole was brought back to the present, her curiosity finally getting the best of her. She reached into her pocket to touch the handkerchief that Waverly gave her before knocking loudly, three times. A dog’s bark and scuffling of nails were her only response. 

“Waverly?” 

“Hold on-- a-- oh, stop it you.” Waverly shrieked then grunted as Potter’s laugh followed. “Oh, fiddlesticks!”

A grin came naturally to Nicole’s face as she slowly opened the door, greeted with Waverly sitting in a puddle of odd green water holding tightly to what looked like a lime green cocker spaniel. Potter was trying to pull the large water basin back upright, his own clothes partially dyed the same lime green.  _ What in the hell… _

“Hi, Nicole!” Potter waved once the basin was standing. “Sorry about the garage--”

Nicole could only nod as she looked between the young boy and Waverly, who was now being fervently licked. 

“Nicole.” Waverly said quietly as she pushed the dog off, allowing it to shake and fling more green water around the garage. “I can explain.”

“Is that Bulshar’s--”

“Constance.” Waverly nodded, pushing herself to her feet. She was wearing a basic deep blue sundress, something different than the eccentric things Nicole was used to her wearing. “I uh-- thought this might keep him busy for awhile.”

Nicole furrowed her brow and breathed in deeply, watching as the once fully white Constance trotted around looking more like lime jello and cream than a purebred show dog. “You dyed Bulshar’s Westminster show dog lime green?”

“Yeah.” Waverly fidgeted before looking to the ground, almost like she was deciding the best words. “I’m sorry, Nicole. About the other day, I mean. I was very upset and I took it out on you. I won’t be selling the house-- at least not until I come up with a plan.”

Nicole felt her lungs being emptied as Waverly looked at her with her hazels. They were no longer the playful eyes of wedding planning or even the sad eyes on the rocks. No, these eyes displayed only love tinged with regret. “Bulshar-- Busy?”

“Yes.” Waverly bit her lower lip. “Bulshar can’t bother me if he’s busy trying to figure out why Marge from 6 Bluff Avenue bought seven containers of lime hair dye.”

“They sell that color?” Nicole stepped forward, feeling the electricity of Waverly’s space.

“This is America-- they sell everything.”

“I’m sorry too.” Nicole reached forward and grabbed Waverly’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “Now clean up your mess and I will put the little guy back into his fence line.”

Waverly nodded but still looked at her expectantly. “Can we talk-- tonight?”

“I’d love nothing more.”

*****

**June 6, 2020**

Finding Billy was a lot harder than Rachel previously imagined. She assumed he’d be in his room or down near the kitchen waiting patiently for Jan’s brownies, but Jan had not seen him since breakfast. Guess she was not the only person in the house avoiding Margo Clanton. Rachel slipped out the back kitchen door and hugged the house, hoping to avoid the chain smoking Holt who haunted both of the second story lanais. While the man had not presented to her as a threat, he seemed far more likely to snitch any new information his mother’s way. 

Rachel pulled out one airpod from its case and stuck it quickly into her ear as she followed the marble chip path towards Philip and Jan’s cottage.  _ Nicole’s cottage.  _ Rachel got the urge to divert away from her plans and find a quiet place down on Waverly’s rocks to find out what she has been hiding from Nicole, but she really needed to get some ammo back to Robin and Jeremy. With a few clicks of her phone, Rachel got her newly mixed ep flowing in her earbuds. She slowed her pace, bopping her head to the drum machine.  _ Damn, Robin knows how to make me sound so smooth.  _ The drop at the chorus had her feet moving into a walking dance, forgetting almost immediately where she was going. All she felt was the rhythm. 

“The music in your head must be the bee’s knees.” 

Rachel tripped, falling into the gate to the pool and cottage. “Fuck!”

Philip laughed, striding forward to open the gate for her. “Do you walk and dance to nothing often?”

“Uhh--” Rachel removed her airpod, jingling it at Philip before placing it back into her case. “Music was in my headphones.”

“Those are headphones? Look more like marshmallows to me.” 

“Same dif.” Rachel smiled, getting her bearings. “Hey, have you seen Billy?”

Philip nodded quickly, using his thumb to point at the cottage behind him. “He got a tongue lashing from Mrs. Clanton.”

“And you hid him?”

“Boy Clanton and I do not see eye to eye on most things. But i’ve never enjoyed seeing someone in pain.” 

“You think he’s in a mood to talk?”

“Not now. Give him a few hours, after his nap.” Philip grinned. “What were you listening to?”

“Uhh-- my new ep.” Rachel shifted her weight. “Which is a small album of songs. I was going to use it as a way to get a record deal but--” She looked up at her new friend, his face shifting into one of sympathy. “But now that I have one in front of me-- I feel too scared to do anything.”

“Hmm.” Peter brought his hand to his face. “Did Nicole help?”

Rachel laughed, her back tingling slightly were the journal laid in her backpack. “Kind of? I still have so much to read-- Did you grow up around Potter?”

Philip clasped his hands together loudly before stepping forward and grabbing Rachel’s shoulder slightly, pushing her to the far poolside table under a large blue umbrella. He quickly pushed her into a chair, motioning to her backpack. “Pull it out, I want to see where you are.”

“You’re freaking me out again, boomer.” Rachel eyed him, his body humming with excitement. She pulled the journal from her bag, thumbing the garter before setting it cautiously on the table. “So, you knew Potter?”

“Of course, I knew the whole family.” Philip reached forward, snatching up the journal easily. He slowly slid off the garter before reaching into his pocket to pull out a white handkerchief, draping it on the table before depositing the garter gently on top. 

“How did Nicole get the garter?” Rachel asked, her eyes looking over the intricacies of the lace. “She only mentioned Doc ripped Waverly’s dress to get it. I doubt Doc would have presented his new prize to his wife’s side-chick.”

“Nicole never received the garter.” Philip stated simply as he unfolded the journal. “Ah, you only made it to the fourteenth of November. You aren’t far enough.”

“What do you mean? It’s on the journal, wouldn’t that mean--”

Philip didn’t answer her question, instead slammed the journal with a flick of his wrist. He then stood and pointed at it. “Read more. Once you get to the ballerina, I think that’s early December, come on into the cottage. Billy should be awake by then.”

A bit of frustration rose in her gut as Rachel quickly checked her phone, noticing that time was passing fast. “But I kinda need to talk to him now. Margo lurks around like Emily Gilmore, ya know?”

Peter glanced back at the cottage before slowly turning back to Rachel, his lips pursed. “Nicole will keep Margo busy. Read. I’ll pull together Billy and then he and I will tell you why she brought you out here in the first place.”

“What does that mean?”

Philip waved before waddling off, leaving Rachel in his confused wake.  _ I’m starting to feel like Nicole with Waverly--  _ Her eyes drifted down as a non-existent breeze blew the book open to a date that Rachel had yet to reach. “Uhhh-- Nicole? Are you a friendly ghost? Like Casper?”

No one answered and Rachel giggled uneasily, pulling the journal towards herself. “Well you wouldn’t have seen Casper, I don’t think. But it’s a good movie, if you still have a blockbuster in the afterlife.”

Rachel looked down and took notice that the date was in late December, more than a month of pages she hadn’t read. She flicked the pages back to her stopping point. “I’m kinda not there yet, Nic--”

The pages flipped back to late December and a chill ran up her spine. 

“Alright Nicole, shit. I will read this one but then we are going back to November ok?” Rachel looked around, seeing no signs of Nicole’s answer.  _ Shit, I am going crazy.  _ "Thanks for agreeing!"

_ December 28, 1947 _

_ Waverly walked into the sea. I swam and I swam but she was gone without a trace. The coast guard pulled me from the water and had the audacity to ask me if I knew how cold it was. Don’t they know the chill of my skin will never match the chill of my soul? Waverly is gone for good. _

_ I can’t do this anymore. _

_ I won’t do this anymore. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Corner:   
> 'the last great american dynasty' - Taylor Swift
> 
> At some point you will know why. For now, you gotta' marinate in this confusion soup. Hit me up down below or over on twitter, @reusabletears.


	6. Chapter 6

_ November 15, 1947 _

_ Waverly finally told me everything. I want to be mad but I simply can't. I’ve been thinking about her a lot since we talked and I decided she is like a hard shelled clam. The Waverly I met all those months ago was frustratingly alluring but closed off. I knew I was drawn to her but she kept me out of her heart, like a tightly shut clam. I am glad that she did. You don't bring home a partially open clam, that's how you can get deathly sick. No, a true Rhode Islander picks out a fully shut one of great size.  _

_ I chose Waverly out of the muckiest sand, unsure if my knife could even get an edge in to pry. I worked at it, needing to see her, even cutting my own palm open in the process. Now that she is open, I finally see just how much she is worth.  _

_ … _

_ ***** _

**November 14, 1947**

_ She isn’t coming, Nicole, so just go to bed. _ Nicole laid down her book and rubbed her eyes, the dull clicking of her wall clock the only sound inside of her cottage. She slowly brought her gaze up and noticed it was half past eleven; too late for an early riser like she is. Nicole rose from her reading chair and tugged at her tie, disappointment blooming across her body. If there was an award for waiting around on the whim of a woman, Nicole would win it. Before she could fully remove her tie, three light knocks to her front door sent her heart into overdrive.

“Waverly?” Nicole couldn’t help but ask as she crossed to the door, pulling it open. Waverly stood in front of her in her usual pink night coat, sporting a very unusual nervous face. “Come in. I was beginning to think that you weren’t coming.”

Waverly slipped by and Nicole shut the door and latched it, turning to find her love clutching herself in a tight grasp. “I almost didn’t.”

“Why?”

“I’m scared, Nicole.” Waverly turned, her bottom lip firmly seated between her teeth. “I’ve lied to you for so long.”

Nicole’s body froze, confusion etched across her features. 

“Too long and I-- I can’t do that to you anymore-- even if it was to protect you. Not when I am in love with you.”

The feeling was overwhelmingly warm as Nicole allowed her feet to cross to Waverly, pulling her into a deep embrace. She let the top of Waverly’s head slide comfortably under her chin, her hand already drawing circles around the smaller woman’s back. Nicole could do this. Whatever thing Waverly had been lying about she could endure; especially now that she knew her own feelings were being reciprocated. 

“I am in love with you too.” Nicole whispered into her hair before pushing Waverly back, looking deep into twinkling hazels. “I think I always have. And whatever you’ve been keeping from me-- I doubt it will dampen my feelings for you. So please, come and sit, tell me everything.”

Waverly’s face softened and her eyes flickered between Nicole’s, searching for reassurance. “Are you sure you can do this?”

“I can.” Nicole chuckled before leaning in, allowing their lips to meet softly. “For you, I always can. Now come and sit, I will make you some tea.”

Nicole led Waverly over to her small table, pulling out her chair and holding on to her as she sank down onto the wood. She then walked to her tea kettle, filling it with enough water to begin the boil. “Whenever you are ready to talk, I’m listening.” 

The wood of the chair creaked and Waverly began, Nicole allowing her to tell her story at her own pace. 

“The only thing I truly loved as a child was my older sister, Wynonna. Our parents only had eyes for each other so I was pretty much raised by Wynonna. She is-- was--"

Nicole turned slightly, meeting Waverly’s gaze with a gentle nod for her to continue whenever she felt ready.

"She was amazing. Every moment was filled with a joke or a story. She would always come up with the most ridiculous stories and babble on about how she would change anything and everything if she could." Waverly's voice was the most relaxed Nicole had ever heard, not even a hint of the bite that usually was present.

"Like what?"

"Like our parents' house in The Grove. Tall, brick, dark, almost gothic. Wynonna hated it." Waverly lightly laughed to herself and Nicole turned to see her right hand touching her chest over her heart. "She constantly threatened to paint it hot pink and lime green."

Nicole laughed at that. "Your favorite colors."

"No. Not at all-- they weren't Wynonna's favorites either. I think they are hideous." Waverly cleared her throat. "When I got older, the painting threats were less helpful when Mom and Dad were gone. So, Wynonna improvised and got me into dance. She never missed a practice or a recital, constantly yelling for me to be 'en pointe'. Wy had a terrible french accent but i'd go up on my toes all the same, even if it meant dropping whatever I was holding. Wynonna had a sixth sense for when I was doing something that made it difficult to follow that direction."

The tea kettle squealed, cutting Waverly off. Nicole grinned as she poured the steaming liquid into her tea pot. Thoughts of her own father playfully chastising her concrete float technique moved across her mind's eye. "Wynonna sounds wonderful."

"She was until she met  _ him _ ." Waverly's voice began to take on a familiar edge. "I was out of school, my own wedding weeks away. My fiance, Champ, was my ticket to stability while I worked on ballet. Not a terrible fellow but I wasn't in love; he just fit my needs. And was too stupid to notice that I am far more fond of the fairer sex."

Nicole bit her lip at the undue explanation. It calmed a soreness in her stomach and she knew that was exactly why Waverly went out of her way to tell her. Nicole turned, setting a saucer with a tea cup down in front of Waverly before pouring the steeped tea. "Assam. My favorite black tea. Do you need sugar or milk?"

"Sugar, please." Waverly looked up at her, sporting thankful eyes. "Champ worked at Doc's oil company and Wynonna accompanied Champ and I to one of his many poker parties. Wynonna always liked bad boys and Doc can't resist attractive women, especially ones as mouthy and opinionated as Wynonna."

"Runs in the family." Nicole commented, filling her own cup as she listened to Waverly stir.

"Not really." She sipped. "But that is what Doc likes."

Nicole tilted her head, pulling out her chair to sit.  _ What does she mean? _

"Wynonna was instantly sucked into Doc's world. Of the two years she was with him, I only saw her a handful of times excluding my wedding. Each time it was like meeting a new Wynonna, her self esteem and zest for life dimmer with every lunch. One day, she snapped. She started a huge fight in the middle of one of Doc's many poker nights."

"What happened?" Nicole asked, reaching forward to cover one of Waverly’s hands.

"She stood on the table and told the entire population of The Grove that Doc was having sex with Bobo." Waverly sucked in a ragged breath. "She signed her death certificate then and there."

Nicole squeezed her hand. 

"Champ and I found her in our driveway the next morning. Police said that her heart wasn't as good as it should have been." Waverly paused for a few moments, her eyes drifting to the window pointed towards the sea. "But I knew."

"I'm so sorry, Waverly." Nicole watched a fire grow in Waverly’s eyes, her own body feeling it's heat.

"So, I came up with a plan. I made my personality more like Wynonna’s and started in on courting Doc."

Nicole’s eyebrows furrowed. "What about Champ?"

"I divorced him." Waverly shrugged. "Most of St. Louis thinks he's dead but he just moved out west-- something about the rodeo."

"Oh." Nicole blinked. "And Doc was interested?"

"He took to me quickly-- I may not be as pretty as my sister was but I know how to recreate her charm. And to sell it, I spent far too long spreading false gossip about her-- although it was fake, I doubt I'll ever forgive myself for it. But it allowed Doc to keep Bobo and for me to convince him to propose."

"How does marrying Doc help?" Nicole asked. 

"My only goal since Wynonna's death was to spend all his money and run his good for nothing name through the dirt." Waverly's voice was thick with anger and spite, but that careful soft glint still showed through in her hazels. Nicole latched onto it. "I wanted everything he holds dear to be destroyed and for him to be left with nothing but his own worries."

"So, was I--" Nicole didn't want to ask but it sat there, waiting to be confirmed.

"No." Waverly grabbed her hand with both of her own, her head shaking. "You were an unexpected joy. I planned on making this the ugliest summer home on the entire coast but every time I requested a new modification, I watched you slowly die inside. It’s been so hard, Nicole. Treating you the way I’ve treated you. I just wanted the entire area to hate Doc so much that he was pushed to sell it. But I met you and suddenly I didn't want to marry him or-- leave here."

"But--" Nicole provided. "You did."

"Bulshar." Waverly nodded. "I didn't think about Bulshar being the true wildcard. I made a deal with him thinking he was just some rich man who wanted to own a whole town. I offered him this house in exchange for keeping Doc’s focus off of how much money I was spending. But then there was you-- and--”

Waverly looked longingly at Nicole. 

“You changed everything. I tried to get out of my deal but he threatened you and I-- I tried to marry Doc, I tried to push you away. But I can't seem to keep you away for but so long. Bulshar doesn't care about anything other than owning the house. I didn’t want Doc to die, I only wanted him to suffer. Obviously, Bulshar has a very particular way of making people suffer."

“Why did he kill him? Peter? Wynonna…” Nicole asked, her words almost getting caught in her throat. 

“I think he likes it.”

Those words hit Nicole like a ton of bricks and she racked her brain, attempting to figure out their next best course of action. After a while, Nicole lifted Waverly's hand to her lips, kissing it softly. "We can fix this."

"But I will have to sell the house-- if I don't, you may end up like them. I can't… I won't have your death on my conscience." Waverly begged, her eyes bouncing between Nicole’s. "Please, let's just leave here with what money of Doc's I have left and be done with this."

"Not without a way to protect the Stewarts. We can fix this, Waverly." Nicole leaned across, gently kissing her, allowing her soft lips to bring her courage. "I can fix this."

*****

_ November 23, 1947 _

_ I've been begging Waverly to leave Rhode Island but she no longer wants to. She has been so wishy-washy. And God, she is causing a huge stink for Watch Hill. She admitted to Inez, our town gossip, that she was the one who dyed Constance green. Bulshar was livid, calling on the town sheriff to arrest us all. Waverly also has been making me cut our bushes into distasteful, inappropriate shapes instead of covering them with burlap for the winter. I’ll most likely have to replace them all come springtime. _

_ Every other conversation we have is a fight and I think her dear husband's death has finally made her mad. _

_ ***** _

**November 30, 1947**

"We are staying here and that is my final word on the subject, Ms. Haught!"

Nicole gulped as she watched Waverly seeth, her eyes a flame.  _ Stick to the program.  _ "Alright.  _ Fine. _ But if the Stewarts are threatened in any way by Bulshar, I will quit."

"Nicole, please." Mrs. Stewart looked up from her broom, so far being only a silent observer of the fight in front of her. "We will be ok. I heard the house down the street is soon to sell, Bulshar will have his hands full until after Christmas. Don't make this a big thing."

"Yes, Nic. Don't make this a  _ big thing."  _ Waverly's voice was thick and sharp, the mocking piercing Nicole’s armor. "Besides, don't you have a pool to drain? I want it filled with life savers come new years and you’ll really have to scrub it clean. Can you do that?"

Nicole had to force herself to scowl, looking over at Mrs. Stewart to show her distaste for such a ludicrous request.  _ “I can.” _

"Good.” Waverly stepped forward. “Now, are you going to stay on past Christmas?" 

"Can I think about it?"

"Of course. You have until the tenth."

*****

_ December 6, 1947 _

_ If Waverly isn't going to protect us… I will. I am meeting with Bulshar later. She isn’t the only person who knows how to make deals. _

_ ***** _

**December 10, 1947**

Nicole clutched the white gift box wrapped with a pink ribbon to her chest as she moved by the staircase into the ballet room. A quick look at her watch let her know that practice was almost finished and if she timed her entry just right, she would have a few moments alone with Waverly.  _ Relax, don't seem nervous. She can tell when you're nervous. Stick with the program. _

A trio of dancers push open the double doors and make their way by the caretaker, giggling and laughing amongst themselves. Nicole tilts forward and peers in, Waverly standing in her ballet clothes looking out the window towards the sea. If there weren’t more pressing matters, Nicole would just stare at Waverly for hours.

"En pointe!" Nicole commands in her attempt at a french accent, watching Waverly follow her directions quickly. "You are good at that."

"Your french accent is terrible." Waverly's voice is calm as she continues to gaze at the surf, slowly coming down flat on the soles of her feet.

"I made my decision." Nicole says confidently, stepping into the room and closing the doors behind them. 

"Good. What will it be, Nic? Can I count on you for the New Year’s party? I want champagne waterfalls off of the balconies."

Nicole swallowed harshly and crossed the room, stopping right behind Waverly.  _ She's so beautiful.  _ "Here."

Waverly slowly turned, her eyebrows pulling into confusion. "A box?"

"My decision." Nicole held the gift out, her head nodding at the bow on top. "It opens from the top. I will hold it while you open."

Waverly reaches forward tentatively to pull an end of the ribbon away, letting the strand of fabric fall before pulling up on the flap. She looked down inside before letting out a gasp. "Nicole?"

"Pull it out." Nicole let a corner of her mouth pull at Waverly’s use of her full name.

The brunette reached in and pulled up a ballerina figurine standing on top of a deep saucer in arabesque. Waverly cradled it carefully in her right hand while touching all the delicate features with her left. Her eyes pull away to look up into Nicole's, admiration deep within them. 

"Secrets are held within en pointe." Nicole whispers. "Flip it."

Waverly follows and turns the ballerina, noticing Nicole's inscription. A few moments pass before she smiles. 

"Glad you are staying on, Nic."

*****

**June 6, 2020**

Rachel rapidly flips between the december tenth entry and december twenty-eighth.  _ What the hell?  _

"Did you drop off the face of the earth between the gift and her death, dude?" Rachel asked the air, the sun slowly descending. "I know lesbian bonetown can be an extended stay but--"

The creak of the cottage door opening cut Rachel off and she turned her head, squinting to see if Philip was back. Instead of Philip, she saw the figure of a redheaded woman in men's clothing standing tall in the doorway. Her lungs contracted as the figure nodded before disappearing, leaving just the door open for Rachel to follow and enter.

"Sorry." Rachel gasped out as she slid the garter back over the journal before walking quickly to the open door. “Do you not identify as a lesbian?”

Once inside, she slowly closed it and let the soft click of the lock lull her into a false sense of security.

"You finished."

Rachel jumped before turning with a flourish, holding the journal out like a weapon.

Philip laughed as he stood up from a well worn reading chair and crossed to a double bed where Billy was fast asleep. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I think the PC term is lesbian… or queer? But yeah." Rachel rattled off, lowering the journal. "I uh-- made it to the ballerina. Though, I must admit I am more confused now than I was earlier."

"That's ok. Billy and I will explain." Philip nodded before slowly leaning down to shake Billy. "Boy Clanton! It's time to wake up kid."

Billy stirred, his eyes popping open and taking in his surroundings slowly. "Shit-- did I fall asleep?"

"You needed it. Now come on and sit up, Rachel is here and you can explain." Philip’s voice was fatherly and it made Rachel feel warm and safe. She walked towards the kitchen, grabbing a chair, before crossing with it to set it down for Philip to sit. "Thank you, dear."

Rachel went to grab another chair as Billy situated himself up in bed, tilting a glass of water from the bedside table to his lips. "Mam isn't around, right?"

"She is busy at the house." Philip smiled. "She doesn't even know Rachel is down here so you are safe to explain anything you need to."

Rachel set down her chair before sliding into it, looking between the two men. "Is there a reason I needed to know that Nicole made a deal with Bulshar before I could talk to Billy?"

Billy looked confused. "Bulshar? Is that a foot scrub?"

"Did you read the next entry?" Philip’s voice was sadder now, his hands fidgety. 

"She made sure of it." Rachel nodded, looking around like she expected to see her there. "Did Nicole make the wrong choice?"

"She did. But you don't have to."

Rachel laughed, her mind swimming. "I mean, their choices were about life or death, old man. I'm just trying to decide about a recording contract."

Billy piped up. "Same thing really."

"Ok-ay." She looked between the men, both looking at her like she was supposed to make sense of all this. "What do you want to tell me?"

"You are kinda Magpie Records last hope." Billy bit his lip. "Mam sent you here with me hoping I'd woo you into signing her contract."

"Last hope?"

"Clantons are out of money-- impending bankruptcy and all. They indeed brought you here to convince you to sign with them but they also came to meet with a local real estate agent." Philip sighed deeply. "They are going to sell 14 Bluff Avenue."

Rachel felt a surge of anger and stood. "They can't do that! This house… this house is everything?! You and Jan would be homeless."

"Maybe." Philip shrugged. "Maybe not. But you cannot sign their deal. Mam wants to ruin your career."

"What?" Rachel turned to look at Billy. The boy nodded solemnly, his eyes showing authentic affection. Butterflies began to float around in her gut at his sincerity.

"Mam wants to make money off of your ep and first record. Then she plans on involving you in some scandals thought up by my siblings. If you are as promising as the pop world thinks-- she can make millions off of ruining your good name."

"And you were going to help her?" Rachel asked quietly, her eyes flickering to the floor.

"I was." He shrugged. "But now I am helping you. Leave here tonight and don't sign or negotiate." 

Rachel’s mind was running at a million miles a minute. She knew the contract was bad but she had no idea that Mam had plans to ruin her.  _ My new ep is fire. I can't let her make money off of-- wait.  _ A big smile pulled across Rachel’s face.

"I have a plan." Rachel chuckled, shaking Philip’s arm. "You got wifi up in this bitch?"

"Sure do." Philip cocked his head. "Why?"

"It's time to stack the deck in our favor." Rachel pulled out her phone, quickly opening her previous calls. A few rings and a grumbly hello meet her. "Robin? Please tell me you are free."

"I was sleeping--" The man groans and she hears some shuffling. "You ok?"

"Yeah. I need you to get to a computer, stat."

"Why is that?"

"Let's drop my ep. Tonight." Rachel smiled. "I will make a few TikToks if you can pull some magic with twitter."

"Hella. Let me get back up."

_ I won't make the same mistake, Nicole. I promise. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still confused? It's ok. It'll be over soon.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts below or hit me up on Twitter, @resuabletears.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: This chapter has more mentions of suicide but no actual detailed explanations.
> 
> Happy last day of 2020. Bye, bitch.

_ December 30, 1947 _

_ It’s funny how things change. _

_ My favorite part of the house are the lime green shutters. You didn’t even like lime green Waverly... but the image of your happiness when we picked out the color is burned into my memory. So happy. So beautiful. _

_ I am scared I will forget what you look like.  _

_ Your lawyer made an appearance today. Why do all the rich people have the same lawyer? Or do they all just slowly go bald under the expectation of everyone? Bulshar slinked in behind him-- his eyes twinkling with cleverness. I wanted to accuse him of your death but I… I watched you walk into the sea with my own two eyes. Bulshar mentioned your lack of family. He’s technically right but you felt like my family, so I was definitely yours.  _

_ Waverly. You died with a family. _

_ I think I am still in shock as I write my thoughts down. I expected you to not have a will and for the estate to be instantly put up for sale; punching my ticket for purgatory. But you did. And it was iron-clad. Bulshar flipped Doc’s poker table and ripped your ballet barre from the wall. I grabbed onto Potter and shielded his ears from the unadulterated fury that leapt from that man, if you can even categorize him human, before he stormed from the house. _

_ Why did you leave everything to the Stewarts, Waverly? I’ve never been given a greater gift, seeing the relief that washed over Mrs. Stewart. And a house has never been in better hands than Philip Potter Stewart’s. But why?  _

_ ***** _

**June 7, 2020**

Rachel laid the journal against her chest and lifted her fingers up to her eyes to rub away the impending tears. Her therapist would tell her that there was a lot to unpack from that journal entry but nothing stuck out more for her than learning that this house was Philip’s all along.  _ Then why did the Clantons buy it?  _ Rachel let out a frustrated groan as she rolled over on the houndstooth couch, her morning spent re-reading the journal. She knew she only had two more entries left and something inside her told her to put those off until after she had exacted her plan on Margo Clanton. A sudden rush of confidence hit her as her eyes drifted to the ballerina statue that Nicole had given to Waverly.

“Why did you kill yourself?” Rachel wondered aloud, pushing herself up to a sitting position. “Nicole had a plan. You should have trusted her.”

All of a sudden her phone was ringing and she answered it, her eyes still lingering on the statue.  _ Why am I so drawn to it? What secrets-- _

“You been on Twitter, kid?” Robin’s excited voice filtered through the phone, bringing Rachel back to the present. 

“Uhh-- no, why?”

“Your ep is blowing up! You already have one hundred thousand downloads in like-- twelve hours!” Robin’s excitement was electric and Rachel jumped to her feet, her jaw hanging loose.

“Wait-- what?” She felt jittery, one hand clutching Nicole’s journal and the other barely keeping her phone to her ear. “One hundred thousand downloads? Like-- paid ones?”

“Yeah, kid. And  _ so many _ listens on spotify-- uhhh.” Rachel listened to hurried mouse clicks. “Two point two million likes on your announcement TikTok. Dude, you are blowing up! I am so proud of you!”

“Holy shit!” Rachel squealed, jumping up and down. She laid the journal gently next to the statue before moving towards the stairs, her heart wanting to see Billy and Philip. “This is the best news--”

A sound stopped her as she reached the bottom of the third floor stairs. She had a flash of deja-vu from the first day at the mansion where Nicole’s song had lured her up to the third floor sanctuary. As she listened closely, it was her own song that was leading her back down to the first floor. 

“Thanks for the heads up, gonna go now and finish up the plan. Did Jer email the contract re-write?”

“You know it. Hit me up if you need me to act all gruff and scary over the phone. I am very intimidating when I wanna be.” Robin’s voice sounded soft but protective and she let it boost her confidence.

“You are best. Can’t wait to continue working with you. I owe you--” Rachel pulled in a deep breath. “Literally  _ everything. _ See you on the flip.”

“I got you kid, go get ‘em!”

With a tap, the phone call ended and Rachel slid the device into her front pants pockets. She then let Nicole’s mantra repeated in her head as she made her way down to the first floor, following her own song to what she assumed would be her final showdown.  _ I can. _

Her tune drifted from the kitchen.  _ I can. _

It became louder as she entered, Jan giving her a slight wave and wink. The woman was kneading dough.  _ I can. _

Rachel waved back and set her posture before walking confidently into the dining room. Margo, Holt, and Billy were all seated at one end with Billy’s phone open in the middle of the table playing her ep. Philip was seated at the other end, his coffee mug hiding an obvious smirk. “Well, you all have fine taste.”

Margo leered, reaching forward to shut off Rachel’s song angrily. “What is the meaning of this? I should rescind our offer! How could you--”

“I don’t work for you, Margo.” Rachel shrugged, her heartbeat going a million miles a minute.  _ Play it cool. _ “And if you paid attention to Twitter at all-- why should I care if you rescind? My team is already screening other offers.”

Margo scowled, sitting back and crossing her arms. Holt gulped visibly but otherwise kept his neutral gaze. Rachel knew he didn’t have a fight in this so she strode forward and pulled out the chair next to Billy and sat down lazily. She noticed the biscuit on a saucer in front of him, his gaze on his cellphone gripped tightly in his mother’s hands. “Was breakfast already served?” 

“Have mine.” Billy squeaked, pushing the saucer her way.

“Billy--” Margo tested, obviously running through different ways to attack this. She turned her focus back on Rachel, which caused the hairs on her neck to stand up. “You are bluffing, Rachel. You’ve never had a  _ team _ . Unless you are referring to your nerdy producer and his DJ boytoy. They aren’t exactly going to turn this little--  _ stunt _ \-- into  _ profit.” _

“But you want to.” Rachel pursed her lips in a bratty pout. “Or is it  _ need _ to?”

“I--”

Rachel put up her hand, pulling her phone out of her pockets and making a few precise taps.  _ I can _ . She listened to the email swoosh before turning her attention back onto Margo, the older woman's eyes almost bulging out of her head. “I just sent you my updated version of the contract. If you agree to it, I will take at least a month to decide if you are still worth my time.”

Margo didn’t take her gaze off of Rachel but her lower lip quivered. “Holt. Read--.”

“No need.” Rachel leaned forward, ready to spout off from memory. “I will.”

“I want 250k upfront. No contract date. 50% royalty rate, always. 50% per authorized play across all streaming services-- don’t think I didn’t see your lack of Spotify in your original deal. I retain my rights to my own masters. Only one album contract length before renegotiation, 40% take with no required minimum. Two videos for the album, 40% take. You receive 100% of funds made from that ep for one year then we default to royalties.”

Margo looked to Holt, his phone trembling as he quickly read her contract on his own phone. After a few tense moments he nodded his head, “It’s all written properly, I reckon.”

“Why you little--” Margo stood, her finger pointing.

“It’s just business, Margo.” Rachel smiled sweetly. “Business that you need. A little birdy told me that you are filing for bankruptcy.”

Margo’s anger flew directly to Billy. “You are a Clanton!”

“Billy didn’t tell me.” Rachel pulled up her phone again, sending Billy’s phone a DM on twitter. “Check his DMs-- Twitter is a flutter with what happened to your  _ formerly  _ successful record label. So glad I kept up on my music industry news before I signed with you.”

The older woman shuffled with her son’s phone, the fire draining from her eyes with every word read.

“I--” She sank back down, Margo’s body showing signs of defeat.  _ Checkmate. _ “How did you--”

“Oh and you are selling the house, right?” Rachel finally looked down at Philip, the man’s face broke out into a wide grin. “I’d love to speak to your real estate agent.”

*****

**December 31, 1947**

Potter was very unsure what to say at a funeral. He thought he might know, now that he had experienced a few. But adults don’t really see Potter so he figured he was off the hook. He looked around at the five or so people who had showed up to the house for the service leaving and found it very interesting in comparison to the last two he had attended. There were at least fifty, if his count was right. Waverly’s funeral seemed so empty with all the bare white chairs. With Potter’s curiosity piqued, he pushed down his woolen suit jacket and tugged at his father’s tie before running in the direction of his mother. She was wearing the same black dress from his father’s funeral.

“Momma!” Potter slid up next to her, tugging on her sleeve. “Why is no one here?”

Mrs. Stewart wiped at her eyes and shushed him. “Philip, please! That is very disrespectful to Mrs. Holliday.”

“Earp.” Potter corrected, his mind filling with all the fun times he had experienced with Waverly. “She told me to call her Ms. Earp.”

Mrs. Stewart looked down, blinking rapidly as her face dropped from annoyance to sadness. “Alright. Let’s be respectful of Ms. Earp.”

Potter was pretty sure finding Nicole was the best way to respect Ms. Earp. Besides, Nicole was the only person who made Waverly truly smile.  _ I should talk to Nicole.  _ “Momma?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Where is Nicole?” Potter asked, looking around at all the empty chairs lined in front of an empty casket. 

Mrs. Steward shushed him again but her head turned, looking out towards the rocks on the far side of the house. “I don’t know, Potter. Run along inside and get out of your sunday best. Then maybe play? I will come get you after--” Mrs. Potter began to cough into her elbow and Potter frowned but waited patiently for her to finish. “Sorry. I will come get you after I finish cleaning up. Ok?”

“But--”

“Ok?” She said firmly and Potter nodded before reaching forward and hugging his mother tightly.  _ I love you.  _ Potter thought it with all his might, unsure why.

“Bye, Momma.” 

“Bye.”

Potter turned and skipped off towards the house. He noticed all the cars were gone except two, leaving only Nicole’s old beat up truck and some weird black car kind of like his father’s. His thoughts drifted to going on a ride to the hardware store with Nicole, listening as she explained all her work to him.  _ I want to paint.  _ Potter let the thought grow before he looked back at his mother, her figure still standing and looking at the empty casket.  _ I should tell Nicole. Mama won't be cross. _ And Potter took the thought and bypassed the door, quickly moving down the hill towards the rocks. Potter squinted, before making out Nicole’s red hair in the distance. Potter used it like the lighthouse beacon.

Once he was within earshot, he noticed Nicole was shaking. “Are you cold, Nicole?”

Nicole’s shaking stopped but she did not turn. “No, Potter. I am fine.”

“Ok.” He responded, looking out at the surf. He noticed how rough it seemed to be and it intrigued him so he took a few steps forward.

“Step back, it’s dangerous.” Nicole warned, turning to look at Potter. Nicole was his favorite person so her gaze had happiness buzzing across his body.

“Do you wanna go to the store?” 

“Not today, bud. Today was about Waverly.” Nicole knelt down beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Tomorrow, maybe? I have a lot to teach you.”

“Do you miss her?” He asked suddenly.

“Every day.”

“I miss her projects.” Potter nodded along. “I help you on those.”

“You do. You are going to make a great caretaker someday, do you know that?” Nicole gripped his shoulder to pull his gaze to her deep brown eyes. “I won’t be around much longer and 14 Bluff Avenue is going to need a new protector.”

“Protector?” Potter was confused. 

“Indeed. Like me. Like my father before me. This house will always need a protector and you seem like the best person for the job.” Nicole nodded, her eyes focused deeply on the boy.

“Wow.” He exclaimed. “Like in a movie?”

“Just like that.” Nicole smiled, a small tear rolling down her cheek.

“You’re leaving?” Peter’s mood sombered a bit and he kicked a rock, unsure of why Nicole would leave him.

“We all leave at some point, buddy.” Nicole pulled him into a tight hug. “And it’s almost my time.”

“Will you visit me?” There was a pain in his chest that Potter was unsure why but he pushed though, hugging her back with the same intensity.

“Of course. I will always be with this house.” 

They held onto each other for a while and Potter had never felt so ready to move forward.  _ You are a great protector. Just like Nicole.  _

“So this is what’s left of the last great American dynasty, huh?”

Potter felt Nicole stiffen at the cold words. He recognized the voice as the scary man with the funny hat.  _ Bulser? Boosher? _

“Bulshar.” Nicole said sternly, unraveling from Potter to stand. Nicole kept him close to her side, which he was thankful for, Potter was too scared to look at him. “There is nothing here for you. Please leave us to mourn in peace.”

“There will always be plenty when one makes as many deals as I do.” Bulshar boomed. “Which reminds me, Haught, where is my end of the deal?”

Nicole clutched Potter closer and the boy clung to her suit in fear, unable to make a sound even if he wanted to. “Our deal is broken-- I told you I wanted Waverly alive and you’d get the house. I am not getting my end so you can’t get yours.”

“You ungrateful little--” Bulshar was seething, Potter could feel him getting closer. “You told her our plan!”

“I told her nothing!” Nicole’s voice was now hoarse and pained. Like Potter’s mother after his father had died. “I wish I had-- maybe she would be still alive! Or I’d have something to bury.”

Bulshar let out a furious groan. “Then help me convince--”

“I didn’t know Waverly would leave them everything, Bulshar. Give it up; there is no way Mrs. Stewart is going to sell you the house. Especially now that the FBI has come knocking.” Nicole’s voice was even again. “I’m sure Mrs. Stewart has plenty--”

“Enough.” Bulshar demanded. “You will regret this, Ms. Haught. Get your affairs in order-- these may be the last few days of your life.”

Potter listened to his footsteps get quieter and quieter before he finally pulled his head out from Nicole’s side. “Nicole… are we in trouble?”

“No, buddy.” Nicole smiled down at him. “I made sure of it.”

*****

_ January 1, 1948 _

_ If Waverly wanted the sea so badly, maybe the sea will want me too.  _

_ I can’t wait to see her again. _

*****

_ Secrets are held within en pointe. _

_ Secrets are held within en pointe. _

_ Secrets are held within en pointe. _

_ Secrets are held within en pointe. _

_ Secrets are held within en pointe. _

_ Secrets are held within en pointe. _

_ Secrets are held within en pointe. _

_ Secrets are held within en pointe. _

_ Secrets are held within en pointe. _

_ Secrets are held within en pointe. _

_ Secrets are held within en pointe. _

_ Secrets are held within en pointe. _

_ Secrets are held within en pointe. _

*****

**January 1, 1948**

Potter swore Nicole told him that they would go to the hardware store today. So he skipped out to her truck and slid across the bench seat; his feet swinging patiently while he waited for her to come walking up the hill. It was at least twenty minutes of patiently waiting and playing with the movable wood doll Nicole had made Potter for Christmas, before he noticed her driver’s seat was occupied. He laid down the doll and focused on the items laying neatly in the cab. He slid closer and gazed at the pretty ballerina statue holding Nicole’s handkerchief. There also were some small gold things and some black book of some kind. It was surrounded with a frilly pink thing and Potter whined in disgust.

“Nicole?” He asked, looking around. But she wasn’t there.

Nicole wasn’t anywhere.

_ ***** _

**June 7, 2020**

Rachel flipped through the journal one more time, skimming all the pages for some kind of resolution. She re-read Nicole’s first line.

_ Earlier this morning, little Potter came running to my cottage by the pool to inform me that his father was asleep inside of his car in the driveway. _

It was normal, nothing of extreme interest. Rachel flipped the journal all the way to the end and read the last page; the only one left undated. It was just thirteen lines of the same sentence. 

_ Secrets are held within en pointe. _

Rachel shut the journal in annoyance. “Hey-- uhh.” She looked around, seeing no signs of her wispy friend. “Ghost Nicole?”

A few moments were laid out in silence, as Rachel gave the spectre some time to consider answering her. “Did you kill yourself? Or slowly slip into some kind of madness?”

No answer. No movement. No nothing. Rachel felt disappointment bloom in her chest before she slowly slipped the pink garter back onto the journal. “I am sorry that things didn’t work out to plan-- but-- uh--” Rachel sighed. “Thank you for helping me.”

“Nicole would have loved you, Rachel.” Philip said from her right, his head peeking up from the stairs. Rachel nodded in greeting before standing from the couch and crossing to the chest. “I didn’t scare you this time?”

“No, I guess I leveled up.” Rachel lamented, still disappointed. She wondered if Philip knew but she was hesitant to ask, especially now since she was aware of his relationship to Nicole. She listened as the floor creaked, Philip crossing to her.

“You ok?” Philip asked tentatively. “You did great with Margo. She fled in utter distress.”

“Yeah. Uh-- Sure, awesome.” Rachel lifted up on the handles, prepared to put away all of Nicole’s treasures. To be ok with not knowing.

“Tell me what’s bothering you, dear.” Philip shuffled closer as Rachel clutched the journal to her chest.

“What happened?” Rachel looked at Philip, his face softening. “And why didn’t you tell me you were Potter?”

“You never asked.” Philip tugged, pulling Rachel towards the couch. “Come sit with me and I will tell you.” 

The pair moved back towards the couch and Rachel looked at the older man expectantly. 

“Bulshar drove us all mad and Waverly, well, she was the maddest of us all. When she walked out into the sea, she took Nicole’s heart and will to live with her.”

“So Nicole killed herself?” Rachel’s voice was meek as she watched Philip’s eyes drift to the journal in her hand. 

“Nicole did. And she left me all these precious items.” A small smile broke out. “The ability to care for this house. Her memory. And more recently, her presence.”

Rachel nodded, the thick emotion building in the back of her throat. “What about Bulshar?”

“That was the greatest gift of them all. The FBI indicted him on money laundering, financial fraud, and blackmail. No idea how Nicole did it but-- she freed Watch Hill.” 

“Yeah.” Rachel’s eyes wandered down to the journal. “But at what cost?”

“You can’t break what’s already over.”

_ You can’t change it either. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Please read the tags.
> 
> Did you read them?
> 
> Ok, good. Now if you still want to yell at me, you can do it down below. Or over on twitter, @reusabletears.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends!
> 
> We have reached the end of Track 3! I hope you enjoyed this little foray into the song that is 'the last great american dynasty'. 
> 
> Please enjoy.

**June 1, 2021**

Excitement lapped at Rachel’s edges, her body pushed flush against the car door. The green hills of Watch Hill, Rhode Island were bringing her a whole different kind of emotion this time. The nervous naivety of an impending record deal was gone and replaced with the enthusiastic buzz of her meeting with Philip and Jan.  _ I bought a house. Twenty year olds should not be buying houses with cash. Thank god I have a gal to do all the taxes.  _ This was going to go well, wasn’t it? Rachel hoped that Philip knew how much she appreciated him. Keeping him and Jan at the house for as long as they wanted, well, it was the only way she knew how to show it to him.

The driver, a stout man with a bristle brush mustache, coughed to let her know he had a question. He was a last minute hire by her security detail and Rachel had never ridden with him before. She bit back the tad bit of annoyance his action caused.  _ Just because my face is plastered over everything doesn’t mean I’m above anyone else.  _ But then she remembered these situations are not always easy to navigate and she pushed herself to be patient. 

“Are you ok?” Rachel asks lightly as he turns onto Bluff Avenue.

“Yeah-- it’s just--” His voice is squeaky and uneven. “I don’t want to impose.”

“You’ve been very kind the entire ride, I doubt you would impose.” Rachel put on her best professional voice. A habit she had been practicing ever since her face off with Margo; The last time she allowed someone to get close to taking advantage of her. “Is there something you wanted?”

“My daughter-- she is a huge fan of yours and I want to surprise her.” The driver’s voice was softer but still held an embarrassed edge. 

“Why didn’t you say so?” Rachel pulled up her bag and pulled out a copy of her limited edition journal that she sold on her website after her album dropped. It was a more modern take on Nicole’s journal but featured the same dark leather outside and frilly pink ribbon tie; an homage to the garter. The inside was blank except for the margins, where they printed some of Rachel’s own doodles and scrapped song lyrics. Rachel opened the front and pulled out a pen. “What is your daughter’s name?”

The driver slowed down to pull into 14 Bluff Avenue’s driveway, the gate already opened by her security team that rode in front. “Alice.”

_ To Alice, _

_ The choppy waves pulled her in _

_ The choppy waves pushed me out _

_ With love, _

_ Rachel Valdez _

“Done!” Rachel smiled at the man as he glanced at her through the rear view mirror. “I will slide it in the pouch behind your seat. Please tell Alice that I can’t wait to meet her at my concert.”

The driver’s face dropped into a confused daze as he pulled up to the house, throwing the car into park before swiveling around to look at Rachel. “What do you mean, ‘at your concert’?”

“Check the journal! Thanks for the smooth ride, I hope to see you and Alice soon!” Rachel grinned before grabbing her bag and hopping out. 

_ Finally.  _ Rachel breathed in the familiar salt air as she took in the house and all its majestic beauty. It looked exactly as it did a year ago and Rachel’s heart swelled as warmth cascaded down her body.  _ Home. _ She tugged the bag onto her shoulder and passed by the men in black coats, swinging the door open with fervor.

“Philip!” Rachel called, taking in the comforting entryway décor before her eyes were drawn to the staircase. “Old man? It’s Rachel!”

Rachel’s feet carried her across the room and she tossed her backpack down in the exact same cutout as before. She hit each step with a quicker pace, hurriedly making her way up to the third floor. There was no music to guide her there this time, just her desire to see Nicole’s journal and hopefully reminisce with Philip some more. Rachel took the third floor stairs more slowly, the swinging light, already illuminated, letting her know she was close to seeing her old friend. As her head cleared the banister, Rachel hurriedly checked the room and found it empty. Her confusion was only momentary before the gears in her mind clicked, reminding her Philip was not the only one who preferred this floor. 

“Hi, Nicole.” Rachel said brightly, her hand coming up to wave at nothing. “Missed ya dude.”

No response. Rachel walked confidently across the room, passing the hounds tooth couch which she grazed with her hand reverently. The chest was still sitting proudly against the wall, instant relief flooded her veins. Rachel knew she should be looking for Philip or Jan but the pull of the chest was too strong. Rachel had been wanting to reread the journal ever since she had left. She kneeled in front, pulling lightly up on the straps and the lid gave way, opening with only a slight puff of dust. Rachel waved the dust away and found Nicole’s treasures sitting in the exact same place she left them a year ago. 

“Hey, Nicole?” Rachel asked, her hands reaching in to pull out the journal. “What happened to the complete box set of the L Word I left for you in here?”

Rachel pulled the journal into her chest as she leaned back on her heels, allowing herself to sit down crossed-legged on the floor. She waited and watched for any response and found herself a tad disappointed when nothing happened.

“I thought that joke was kinda funny.” Rachel defended to the air. “But I guess you have no idea what the L Word is so-- yeah, I can see how that wouldn’t hit.”

Rachel turned her attention back to the journal, sliding the garter off with care before opening the front cover in her lap. She read the poem under Nicole’s name. 

  
  


_ “It matters not how strait the gate,  _

_ How charged with punishments the scroll,  _

_ I am the master of my fate: _

_ I am the captain of my soul.” _

  
  


_ ‘Invictus’ - William Ernest Henley _

  
  


“I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.” Rachel immediately flipped to the last entry of the journal, her finger running over the thirteen identical lines. The trip back to Toronto the prior year had been filled with her thoughts on what the phrase could mean. “What are you trying to tell me, Nicole?”

_ Secrets are held within en pointe. _

_ I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul. _

_ Secrets are held within en pointe. _

Rachel bit her lip before pulling her cell phone from her pocket, immediately googling ‘en pointe.’ She read the first entry from the dictionary, her mind beginning to see everything a little clearer. “On point-- On the tips of the toes?” She swallowed and looked at the front window. 

“Do you want me to go up on the tips of my toes? I am a singer, not a dancer, dude.”

The journal suddenly flipped rapidly, the pages flying backwards until they landed on one particular entry. 

_ ‘October 23, 1947’  _

Rachel perused it quickly. “The Emily Dickinson poem?” She let her eyes drift to what Nicole penned underneath the poem. 

_ The realm of Waverly is vast. If she asked me to care for it, I’d leave 14 Bluff Avenue in a second. _

“Oh. You weren’t just being a simp for Waverly-- you were--” Rachel’s eyes went large as saucers as she scrambled forward and pulled the ballerina statue from the chest. “Secrets are held within en pointe. This ballerina isn’t doing a full en pointe.”

With shaky hands, Rachel grabs the statue under its arms with her left before pushing down on the outstretched leg with her right. After a bit of force was applied, the leg gives way and slides down, causing the deep set saucer to open like a trap at the bottom. Once the leg was fully down, it locked into place, revealing something square inside of the false bottom of the saucer. Rachel stared with her mouth open as she tilted the ballerina to one side, a folded piece of paper sliding out onto the floor.

“Nicole Rayleigh Haught.” Rachel shook her head in disbelief before setting the statue down beside the chest and grabbing onto the folded paper. “Was this for Philip?”

Rachel didn’t wait for a response, instead unfolding and finding two old pieces of paper that looked like they were ripped from Nicole’s journal. She pulled out the inner one and pushed down on the creases before lifting it towards the light. Rachel had never read anything so quickly.

_ December 9, 1947 _

_ My dearest Waverly, _

_ Bulshar has eyes and ears everywhere in Watch Hill. It was difficult to find someone to help us with our plan but I finally did. I think you will remember him… Paul? The man who helped us find the green for the shutters? He isn’t from Watch Hill and is an old friend of my dad and I. I trust him. _

_ The plan is simple. On the 28th you will walk out into the sea, close to the rocks on the lighthouse side. Paul will be waiting around the blindside of the cove in a green and white dinghy. Swim to him. I will tell Mrs. Stewart to alert the coast guard and then I will swim out right behind you to make sure you make it safely to Paul. Once I confirm you are safe, I will swim away and distract the boats while he takes you back to his home in Westerly. Paul’s wife, Candice, makes the best caramel cake. I think the two of you will become fast friends. _

_ Please wait for me there, my love, I will see you on the first of the year after I swim to my own fake death. Then we will enact your part of the plan. Thank you for everything you are doing to keep the Stewarts safe. This kind of gratitude can’t be repaid in thirteen lifetimes. But I will do my damndest to try and repay it. _

_ I love you with every fiber of my being. _

_ Your loyal companion, _

_ Nicole _

  
  


Rachel stared down at the entry, her soul overflowing with hope and joy. She pulled up the second letter but immediately noticed it was addressed to Potter.  _ Philip. I got to find Philip. They didn’t kill themselves. They didn’t kill themselves! _ A creak on the stairs had Rachel pushing herself to her feet. “Philip!?!”

“Rachel?” Philip called back before taking the rest of the stairs as quickly as he could. “Hello, my dear! I was hoping it was you up here.”

She flew across the room, hugging him with more power than she meant to. Philip chuckled deeply but hugged back with the same level of fierceness. “Philip-- I found it!”

“Found what, kid?” 

“Nicole and Waverly’s fate.” Rachel pulled the letters out from between them and handed them over to the caretaker, watching as his breath caught. “The last entry-- Secrets are held within en pointe. It was the statue, Philip. These were hidden in the statue-- I assume for you to find.”

Philip’s eyes began to tear as he looked down at the pieces of paper and back up at Rachel. “They didn’t die?”

Rachel shook her head before reaching forward to grab on to the man, pulling him towards the houndstooth couch. She sat him down gingerly before plopping down next to him, rubbing his arm for support. “Naw, old man. They just made it seem like it to protect you and your mother.”

Philip, still clutching the letters, was looking directly at the open chest. A million different emotions poured off of his body and Rachel just kept trying to comfort him, beside herself at this amazing outcome. 

“Nicole hasn’t been a ghost this whole time? Watching over me?”

Rachel didn’t know the answer to that, her eyes flicking down to the letters. “I don’t know.”

“No-- she was  _ actually _ watching over me. Sending me money. Leaving me clues at different milestones my entire life.” Philip turned his gaze to the window, the curtain now lightly moving like there was a summer breeze. “Nicole said she would visit me-- I always thought she didn’t-- No, she never broke her promise. Nicole was with me the whole way. She never left me.”

“How do you know?” Rachel wondered. 

“The money-- the strange sums of money we always received, stopped one day about twenty years ago. I was able to keep the house going, with my own savings, for a while but we decided to retire. I sold the house to the Clantons and that’s when weird stuff started happening. Nicole’s visits. But-- she and Waverly must have been sending me the money. They must have been the strange guests at my graduation-- my wedding. I’ve seen flashes of red my entire life but I never knew it was just Nicole-- still watching over me.” Philip chuckled lightly, his hand reaching for his heart. “She never left me, Rachel. She never left me.”

“Yeah.” Rachel grinned, the room alight with love. “She never did.”

*****

_ December 31, 1947 _

_ Potter, _

_ If you are reading this letter, you figured out my riddle. If you didn’t, don’t worry-- I will never stop trying to ensure you somehow read this. Please know that I didn’t leave because I wanted to, but because I had to. I know I am neither your mother nor your father but I have always considered you an extension of myself. A part of my family. I am proud that I am leaving 14 Bluff Avenue in your very capable hands-- even if you may not feel you are up to the challenge right now. I am sure you will be. Have faith. _

_ I didn’t want to leave you, Potter. I wish that I could have made all of us disappear but Bulshar is too powerful and his friends too numerous. Please know that Waverly and I are somewhere safe and that we miss you every single day. _

_ I will never forget you Potter. _

_ I love you, kid. _

_ Nicole _

_ PS: When you get older, please paint the shutters back to stormy blue. That lime green color is hideous. _

*********

**January 1, 1958**

“I can’t believe it’s been ten years already.” 

Nicole smiled at Waverly’s words, readjusting the blankets in her arms as she closed the door to the cabin behind her, scared of letting any more heat out. “Time flies.”

Waverly sighed and Nicole turned, taking in the beautiful sunrise creeping over the waves. The sand was dim, the water calmer than normal, and there wasn’t an overwhelming breeze. She was thankful. Nicole loved their little beachfront cabin in Lockeport, Nova Scotia. Waverly had bought it with some of the money she had leftover from Doc’s fortune, the rest going into different financial opportunities that Nicole was too unfamiliar with to speak on. The cabin was in terrible shape but Nicole nursed it back to health, making it the toastiest place in all of the North East. But here the pair was, outside on a bitter cold new years day, watching the sun rise. Nicole shook her head in feigned annoyance before stepping closer to Waverly, draping one blanket over her shoulders.

“It’s nice.” Waverly responded, looking up with her hazel eyes before winking. 

“It’s not. It’s Nova Scotia in January.” Nicole wrapped her own blanket around herself before sliding in closer to Waverly. “We know better.”

“How is Potter?” Waverly turned her attention back on the sun rise but snuggled in all the same. 

“Paul said he’s doing well; taking mighty good care of the house. Well, as much as a teenager can. I asked if they had figured out anything about the mysterious money that keeps coming in but Paul had no idea what I was talking about.”

Waverly laughed lightly, leaning up to plant a kiss on Nicole’s jaw. “Good.”

Nicole responded with a longer kiss to the top of Waverly’s head before looking out at the sea, her mind wandering to the same waves but from Waverly’s balcony back at 14 Bluff Avenue. A tinge of sadness bloomed in her chest and like clockwork, Waverly hummed beneath her.  _ She can totally read your mind. _

“You miss it, don’t you?”

“What?” Nicole knew what she meant but decided to push out the inevitable.

“Holliday house.” Waverly sighed. “I am sorry--”

“Shh.” Nicole pulled Waverly tighter, cutting her off. “Of course I miss Watch Hill-- The Stewarts-- the house. But you and I-- we would have never been able to make a life there.”

“You’re right.” Waverly’s said with adoration. “Up here, we don’t have to be anyone but ourselves.”

“We would have never been truly free.” Nicole lamented.

“One thing is for sure though.” Waverly said coyly as the sun peeked fully over the horizon.

“What’s that?”

“I had a marvelous time ruining everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you for reading and I hoped everything was answered! I really enjoyed writing this one.
> 
> Thank you for all your kudos and comments. I thrive off of this feedback and it's always so very appreciated. Let me know how you felt about the fic below or come over to twitter, @reusabletears. My DMs are always open if you want to discuss anything.
> 
> See you in a bit for Track 4.

**Author's Note:**

> Song Corner:  
> "I've Got a Feeling I'm Falling" by Ella Fitzgerald  
> "the last great american dynasty" by Taylor Swift
> 
> Let me know what you think down below or over on twitter, @reusabletears.


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